but in the interests of justice! I beseech you, indeed! Do me a favour, if only for once in your life!"
Dyukovsky fell on his knees.
"Nikolay Yermolaitch, do be so good! Call me a scoundrel, a worthless wretch if I am in error about that woman! It is such a case, you know! It is a case! More like a novel than a case. The fame of it will be all over Russia. They will make you examining magistrate for particularly important cases! Do understand, you unreasonable old man!"
The examining magistrate frowned and irresolutely put out his hand towards his hat.
"Well, the devil take you!" he said, "let us go."
It was already dark when the examining magistrate's waggonette rolled up to the police superintendent's door.
"What brutes we are!" said Tchubikov, as he reached for the bell. "We are disturbing people."
"Never mind, never mind, don't be frightened. We will say that one of the springs has broken."
Tchubikov and Dyukovsky were met in the doorway by a tall, plump woman of three and twenty, with eyebrows as black as pitch and full red lips. It was Olga Petrovna herself.
"Ah, how very nice," she said, smiling all over her face. "You are just in time for supper. My Yevgraf Kuzmitch is not at home. . . . He is staying at the priest's. But we can get on without him. Sit down. Have you come from an inquiry?"
