The Safety Match
The Safety Match is Chekhov's clever parody, a Russian whodunnit. Are you looking for the W.W. Jacobs story, Safety Match?
On the morning of October 6, 1885, in the office of the Inspectorof Police of the second division of S---- District, there appeareda respectably dressed young man, who announced that his master,Marcus Ivanovitch Klausoff, a retired officer of the Horse Guards,separated from his wife, had been murdered. While making thisannouncement the young man was white and terribly agitated. Hishands trembled and his eyes were full of terror.
"Whom have I the honor of addressing?" asked the inspector."Psyekoff, Lieutenant Klausoff's agent; agriculturist andmechanician!"The inspector and his deputy, on visiting the scene of theoccurrence in company with Psyekoff, found the following: Near thewing in which Klausoff had lived was gathered a dense crowd. Thenews of the murder had sped swift as lightning through theneighborhood, and the peasantry, thanks to the fact that the daywas a holiday, had hurried together from all the neighboringvillages. There was much commotion and talk. Here and there,pale, tear-stained faces were seen. The door of Klausoff's bedroomwas found locked. The key was inside."It is quite clear that the scoundrels got in by the window!" saidPsyekoff as they examined the door.They went to the garden, into which the bedroom window opened. Thewindow looked dark and ominous. It was covered by a faded greencurtain. One corner of the curtain was slightly turned up, whichmade it possible to look into the bedroom."Did any of you look into the window?" asked the inspector."Certainly not, your worship!" answered Ephraim, the gardener, alittle gray-haired old man, who looked like a retired sergeant."Who's going to look in, if all their bones are shaking?""Ah, Marcus Ivanovitch, Marcus Ivanovitch!" sighed the inspector,looking at the window, "I told you you would come to a bad end! Itold the dear man, but he wouldn't listen! Dissipation doesn'tbring any good!""Thanks to Ephraim," said Psyekoff; "but for him, we would neverhave guessed. He was the first to guess that something was wrong.He comes to me this morning, and says: 'Why is the master so longgetting up? He hasn't left his bedroom for a whole week!' Themoment he said that, it was just as if some one had hit me with anax. The thought flashed through my mind, 'We haven't had a sightof him since last Saturday, and to-day is Sunday'! Seven wholedays--not a doubt of it!""Ay, poor fellow!" again sighed the inspector. "He was a cleverfellow, finely educated, and kind-hearted at that! And in society,nobody could touch him! But he was a waster, God rest his soul! Iwas prepared for anything since he refused to live with OlgaPetrovna. Poor thing, a good wife, but a sharp tongue! Stephen!"the inspector called to one of his deputies, "go over to my housethis minute, and send Andrew to the captain to lodge an informationwith him! Tell him that Marcus Ivanovitch has been murdered. Andrun over to the orderly; why should he sit there, kicking hisheels? Let him come here! And go as fast as you can to theexamining magistrate, Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch. Tell him to comeover here! Wait; I'll write him a note!"The inspector posted sentinels around the wing, wrote a letter tothe examining magistrate, and then went over to the director's fora glass of tea. Ten minutes later he was sitting on a stool,carefully nibbling a lump of sugar, and swallowing the scaldingtea."There you are!" he was saying to Psyekoff; "there you are! Anoble by birth! a rich man--a favorite of the gods, you may say, asPushkin has it, and what did he come to? He drank and dissipatedand--there you are--he's murdered."After a couple of hours the examining magistrate drove up.Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch Chubikoff--for that was the magistrate'sname--was a tall, fleshy old man of sixty, who had been wrestlingwith the duties of his office for a quarter of a century.Everybody in the district knew him as an honest man, wise,energetic, and in love with his work. He was accompanied to thescene of the murder by his inveterate companion, fellow worker, andsecretary, Dukovski, a tall young fellow of twenty-six."Is it possible, gentlemen?" cried Chubikoff, entering Psyekoff'sroom, and quickly shaking hands with everyone. Is it possible?Marcus Ivanovitch? Murdered? No! It is impossible! Im-poss-i-ble!"Go in there!" sighed the inspector."Lord, have mercy on us! Only last Friday I saw him at the fair inFarabankoff. I had a drink of vodka with him, save the mark!""Go in there!" again sighed the inspector.They sighed, uttered exclamations of horror, drank a glass of teaeach, and went to the wing."Get back!" the orderly cried to the peasants.Going to the wing, the examining magistrate began his work byexamining the bedroom door. The door proved to be of pine, paintedyellow, and was uninjured. Nothing was found which could serve asa clew. They had to break in the door."Everyone not here on business is requested to keep away!" said themagistrate, when, after much hammering and shaking, the dooryielded to ax and chisel. "I request this, in the interest of theinvestigation. Orderly, don't let anyone in!"Chubikoff, his assistant, and the inspector opened the door, andhesitatingly, one after the other, entered the room. Their eyesmet the following sight: Beside the single window stood the bigwooden bed with a huge feather mattress. On the crumpled featherbed lay a tumbled, crumpled quilt. The pillow, in a cotton pillow-case, also much crumpled, was dragging on the floor. On the tablebeside the bed lay a silver watch and a silver twenty-kopeck piece.Beside them lay some sulphur matches. Beside the bed, the littletable, and the single chair, there was no furniture in the room.Looking under the bed, the inspector saw a couple of dozen emptybottles, an old straw hat, and a quart of vodka. Under the tablelay one top boot, covered with dust. Casting a glance around theroom, the magistrate frowned and grew red in the face."Scoundrels!" he muttered, clenching his fists."And where is Marcus Ivanovitch?" asked Dukovski in a low voice."Mind your own business!" Chubikoff answered roughly. "Be goodenough to examine the floor! This is not the first case of thekind I have had to deal with! Eugraph Kuzmitch," he said, turningto the inspector, and lowering his voice, "in 1870 I had anothercase like this. But you must remember it--the murder of themerchant Portraitoff. It was just the same there. The scoundrelsmurdered him, and dragged the corpse out through the window--"Chubikoff went up to the window, pulled the curtain to one side,and carefully pushed the window. The window opened."It opens, you see! It wasn't fastened. Hm! There are tracksunder the window. Look! There is the track of a knee! Somebodygot in there. We must examine the window thoroughly.""There is nothing special to be found on the floor," said Dukovski."No stains or scratches. The only thing I found was a strucksafety match. Here it is! So far as I remember, Marcus Ivanovitchdid not smoke. And he always used sulphur matches, never safetymatches. Perhaps this safety match may serve as a clew!""Oh, do shut up!" cried the magistrate deprecatingly. "You go onabout your match! I can't abide these dreamers! Instead ofchasing matches, you had better examine the bed!"After a thorough examination of the bed, Dukovski reported:"There are no spots, either of blood or of anything else. Thereare likewise no new torn places. On the pillow there are signs ofteeth. The quilt is stained with something which looks like beerand smells like beer. The general aspect of the bed gives groundsfor thinking that a struggle took place on it.""I know there was a struggle, without your telling me! You are notbeing asked about a struggle. Instead of looking for struggles,you had better--""Here is one top boot, but there is no sign of the other.""Well, and what of that?""It proves that they strangled him, while he was taking his bootsoff. He hadn't time to take the second boot off when--""There you go!--and how do you know they strangled him?""There are marks of teeth on the pillow. The pillow itself isbadly crumpled, and thrown a couple of yards from the bed.""Listen to his foolishness! Better come into the garden. Youwould be better employed examining the garden than digging aroundhere. I can do that without you!"When they reached the garden they began by examining the grass.The grass under the window was crushed and trampled. A bushyburdock growing under the window close to the wall was alsotrampled. Dukovski succeeded in finding on it some broken twigsand a piece of cotton wool. On the upper branches were found somefine hairs of dark blue wool."What color was his last suit?" Dukovski asked Psyekoff.Yellow crash.""Excellent! You see they wore blue!"A few twigs of the burdock were cut off, and carefully wrapped inpaper by the investigators. At this point Police CaptainArtsuybasheff Svistakovski and Dr. Tyutyeff arrived. The captainbade them "Good day!" and immediately began to satisfy hiscuriosity. The doctor, a tall, very lean man, with dull eyes; along nose, and a pointed chin, without greeting anyone or askingabout anything, sat down on a log, sighed, and began:"The Servians are at war again! What in heaven's name can theywant now? Austria, it's all your doing!"The examination of the window from the outside did not supply anyconclusive data. The examination of the grass and the bushesnearest to the window yielded a series of useful clews. Forexample, Dukovski succeeded in discovering a long, dark streak,made up of spots, on the grass, which led some distance into thecenter of the garden. The streak ended under one of the lilacbushes in a dark brown stain. Under this same lilac bush was founda top boot, which turned out to be the fellow of the boot alreadyfound in the bedroom."That is a blood stain made some time ago," said Dukovski,examining the spot.At the word "blood" the doctor rose, and going over lazily, lookedat the spot."Yes, it is blood!" he muttered."That shows he wasn't strangled, if there was blood," saidChubikoff, looking sarcastically at Dukovski."They strangled him in the bedroom; and here, fearing he might comeround again, they struck him a blow with some sharp-pointedinstrument. The stain under the bush proves that he lay there aconsiderable time, while they were looking about for some way ofcarrying him out of the garden."Well, and how about the boot?""The boot confirms completely my idea that they murdered him whilehe was taking his boots off before going to bed. He had alreadytaken off one boot, and the other, this one here, he had only hadtime to take half off. The half-off boot came off of itself, whilethe body was dragged over, and fell--""There's a lively imagination for you!" laughed Chubikoff. "Hegoes on and on like that! When will you learn enough to drop yourdeductions? Instead of arguing and deducing, it would be muchbetter if you took some of the blood-stained grass for analysis!"When they had finished their examination, and drawn a plan of thelocality, the investigators went to the director's office to writetheir report and have breakfast. While they were breakfasting theywent on talking:"The watch, the money, and so on--all untouched--" Chubikoff began,leading off the talk, "show as clearly as that two and two are fourthat the murder was not committed for the purpose of robbery.""The murder was committed by an educated man!" insisted Dukovski."What evidence have you of that?""The safety match proves that to me, for the peasants hereaboutsare not yet acquainted with safety matches. Only the landownersuse them, and by no means all of them. And it is evident thatthere was not one murderer, but at least three." Two held him,while one killed him. Klausoff was strong, and the murderers musthave known it!"What good would his strength be, supposing he was asleep?""The murderers came on him while he was taking off his boots. Ifhe was taking off his boots, that proves that he wasn't asleep!""Stop inventing your deductions! Better eat!""In my opinion, your worship," said the gardener Ephraim, settingthe samovar on the table, "it was nobody but Nicholas who did thisdirty trick!""Quite possible," said Psyekoff."And who is Nicholas?""The master's valet, your worship," answered Ephraim. "Who elsecould it be? He's a rascal, your worship! He's a drunkard and ablackguard, the like of which Heaven should not permit! He alwaystook the master his vodka and put the master to bed. Who elsecould it be? And I also venture to point out to your worship, heonce boasted at the public house that he would kill the master! Ithappened on account of Aquilina, the woman, you know. He wasmaking up to a soldier's widow. She pleased the master; the mastermade friends with her himself, and Nicholas--naturally, he was mad!He is rolling about drunk in the kitchen now. He is crying, andtelling lies, saying he is sorry for the master--"The examining magistrate ordered Nicholas to be brought. Nicholas,a lanky young fellow, with a long, freckled nose, narrow-chested,and wearing an old jacket of his master's, entered Psyekoff's room,and bowed low before the magistrate. His face was sleepy and tear-stained. He was tipsy and could hardly keep his feet."Where is your master?" Chubikoff asked him."Murdered! your worship!"As he said this, Nicholas blinked and began to weep."We know he was murdered. But where is he now? Where is hisbody?""They say he was dragged out of the window and buried in thegarden!""Hum! The results of the investigation are known in the kitchenalready!--That's bad! Where were you, my good fellow, the nightthe master was murdered? Saturday night, that is."Nicholas raised his head, stretched his neck, and began to think."I don't know, your worship," he said. "I was drunk and don'tremember.""An alibi!" whispered Dukovski, smiling, and rubbing his hands."So-o! And why is there blood under the master's window?"Nicholas jerked his head up and considered."Hurry up!" said the Captain of Police."Right away! That blood doesn't amount to anything, your worship!I was cutting a chicken's throat. I was doing it quite simply, inthe usual way, when all of a sudden it broke away and started torun. That is where the blood came from."Ephraim declared that Nicholas did kill a chicken every evening,and always in some new place, but that nobody ever heard of a half-killed chicken running about the garden, though of course it wasn'timpossible."An alibi," sneered Dukovski; "and what an asinine alibi!""Did you know Aquilina?""Yes, your worship, I know her.""And the master cut you out with her?""Not at all. HE cut me out--Mr. Psyekoff there, IvanMikhailovitch; and the master cut Ivan Mikhailovitch out. That ishow it was."Psyekoff grew confused and began to scratch his left eye. Dukovskilooked at him attentively, noted his confusion, and started. Henoticed that the director had dark blue trousers, which he had notobserved before. The trousers reminded him of the dark bluethreads found on the burdock. Chubikoff in his turn glancedsuspiciously at Psyekoff."Go!" he said to Nicholas. "And now permit me to put a question toyou, Mr. Psyekoff. Of course you were here last Saturday evening?""Yes! I had supper with Marcus Ivanovitch about ten o'clock.""And afterwards?""Afterwards--afterwards--Really, I do not remember," stammeredPsyekoff. "I had a good deal to drink at supper. I don't rememberwhen or where I went to sleep. Why are you all looking at me likethat, as if I was the murderer?""Where were you when you woke up?""I was in the servants' kitchen, lying behind the stove! They canall confirm it. How I got behind the stove I don't know"Do not get agitated. Did you know Aquilina?""There's nothing extraordinary about that--""She first liked you and then preferred Klausoff?""Yes. Ephraim, give us some more mushrooms! Do you want some moretea, Eugraph Kuzmitch?"A heavy, oppressive silence began and lasted fully five minutes.Dukovski silently kept his piercing eyes fixed on Psyekoff's paleface. The silence was finally broken by the examining magistrate:"We must go to the house and talk with Maria Ivanovna, the sisterof the deceased. Perhaps she may be able to supply some clews."Chubikoff and his assistant expressed their thanks for thebreakfast, and went toward the house. They found Klausoff'ssister, Maria Ivanovna, an old maid of forty-five, at prayer beforethe big case of family icons. When she saw the portfolios in herguests' hands, and their official caps, she grew pale."Let me begin by apologizing for disturbing, so to speak, yourdevotions," began the gallant Chubikoff, bowing and scraping. "Wehave come to you with a request. Of course, you have heardalready. There is a suspicion that your dear brother, in some wayor other, has been murdered. The will of God, you know. No onecan escape death, neither czar nor plowman. Could you not help uswith some clew, some explanation--?""Oh, don't ask me!" said Maria Ivanovna, growing still paler, andcovering her face with her hands. "I can tell you nothing.Nothing! I beg you! I know nothing--What can I do? Oh, no! no!--not a word about my brother! If I die, I won't say anything!"Maria Ivanovna began to weep, and left the room. The investigatorslooked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and beat a retreat."Confound the woman!" scolded Dukovski, going out of the house."It is clear she knows something, and is concealing it! And thechambermaid has a queer expression too! Wait, you wretches! We'llferret it all out!"In the evening Chubikoff and his deputy, lit on their road by thepale moon, wended their way homeward. They sat in their carriageand thought over the results of the day. Both were tired and keptsilent. Chubikoff was always unwilling to talk while traveling,and the talkative Dukovski remained silent, to fall in with theelder man's humor. But at the end of their journey the deputycould hold in no longer, and said:"It is quite certain," he said, "that Nicholas had something to dowith the matter. Non dubitandum est! You can see by his face whatsort of a case he is! His alibi betrays him, body and bones. Butit is also certain that he did not set the thing going. He wasonly the stupid hired tool. You agree? And the humble Psyekoffwas not without some slight share in the matter. His dark bluebreeches, his agitation, his lying behind the stove in terror afterthe murder, his alibi and--Aquilina--""'Grind away, Emilian; it's your week!' So, according to you,whoever knew Aquilina is the murderer! Hothead! You ought to besucking a bottle, and not handling affairs! You were one ofAquilina's admirers yourself--does it follow that you areimplicated too?""Aquilina was cook in your house for a month. I am saying nothingabout that! The night before that Saturday I was playing cardswith you, and saw you, otherwise I should be after you too! Itisn't the woman that matters, old chap! It is the mean, nasty, lowspirit of jealousy that matters. The retiring young man was notpleased when they got the better of him, you see! His vanity,don't you see? He wanted revenge. Then, those thick lips of hissuggest passion. So there you have it: wounded self-love andpassion. That is quite enough motive for a murder. We have two ofthem in our hands; but who is the third? Nicholas and Psyekoffheld him, but who smothered him? Psyekoff is shy, timid, an all-round coward. And Nicholas would not know how to smother with apillow. His sort use an ax or a club. Some third person did thesmothering; but who was it?"Dukovski crammed his hat down over his eyes and pondered. Heremained silent until the carriage rolled up to the magistrate'sdoor."Eureka!" he said, entering the little house and throwing off hisovercoat. "Eureka, Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch! The only thing Ican't understand is, how it did not occur to me sooner! Do youknow who the third person was?""Oh, for goodness sake, shut up! There is supper! Sit down toyour evening meal!"The magistrate and Dukovski sat down to supper. Dukovski pouredhimself out a glass of vodka, rose, drew himself up, and said, withsparkling eyes:"Well, learn that the third person, who acted in concert with thatscoundrel Psyekoff, and did the smothering, was a woman! Yes-s! Imean--the murdered man's sister, Maria Ivanovna!"Chubikoff choked over his vodka, and fixed his eyes on Dukovski."You aren't--what's-its-name? Your head isn't what-do-you-call-it?You haven't a pain in it?""I am perfectly well! Very well, let us say that I am crazy; buthow do you explain her confusion when we appeared? How do youexplain her unwillingness to give us any information? Let us admitthat these are trifles. Very well! All right! But remember theirrelations. She detested her brother. She never forgave him forliving apart from his wife. She is of the Old Faith, while in hereyes he is a godless profligate. There is where the germ of herhate was hatched. They say he succeeded in making her believe thathe was an angel of Satan. He even went in for spiritualism in herpresence!"Well, what of that?""You don't understand? She, as a member of the Old Faith, murderedhim through fanaticism. It was not only that she was putting todeath a weed, a profligate--she was freeing the world of anantichrist!--and there, in her opinion, was her service, herreligious achievement! Oh, you don't know those old maids of theOld Faith. Read Dostoyevsky! And what does Lyeskoff say aboutthem, or Petcherski? It was she, and nobody else, even if you cutme open. She smothered him! O treacherous woman! wasn't that thereason why she was kneeling before the icons, when we came in, justto take our attention away? 'Let me kneel down and pray,' she saidto herself, 'and they will think I am tranquil and did not expectthem!' That is the plan of all novices in crime, NicholasYermolaiyevitch, old pal! My dear old man, won't you intrust thisbusiness to me? Let me personally bring it through! Friend, Ibegan it and I will finish it!"Chubikoff shook his head and frowned."We know how to manage difficult matters ourselves," he said; "andyour business is not to push yourself in where you don't belong.Write from dictation when you are dictated to; that is your job!"Dukovski flared up, banged the door, and disappeared."Clever rascal!" muttered Chubikoff, glancing after him. "Awfullyclever! But too much of a hothead. I must buy him a cigar case atthe fair as a present."The next day, early in the morning, a young man with a big head anda pursed-up mouth, who came from Klausoff's place, was introducedto the magistrate's office. He said he was the shepherd Daniel,and brought a very interesting piece of information."I was a bit drunk," he said. "I was with my pal till midnight.On my way home, as I was drunk, I went into the river for a bath.I was taking a bath, when I looked up. Two men were walking alongthe dam, carrying something black. 'Shoo!' I cried at them. Theygot scared, and went off like the wind toward Makareff's cabbagegarden. Strike me dead, if they weren't carrying away the master!"That same day, toward evening, Psyekoff and Nicholas were arrestedand brought under guard to the district town. In the town theywere committed to the cells of the prison.
IIA fortnight passed.It was morning. The magistrate Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch wassitting in his office before a green table, turning over the papersof the "Klausoff case"; Dukovski was striding restlessly up anddown, like a wolf in a cage."You are convinced of the guilt of Nicholas and Psyekoff," he said,nervously plucking at his young beard. "Why will you not believein the guilt of Maria Ivanovna? Are there not proofs enough foryou?""I don't say I am not convinced. I am convinced, but somehow Idon't believe it! There are no real proofs, but just a kind ofphilosophizing--fanaticism, this and that--""You can't do without an ax and bloodstained sheets. Thosejurists! Very well, I'll prove it to you! You will stop sneeringat the psychological side of the affair! To Siberia with yourMaria Ivanovna! I will prove it! If philosophy is not enough foryou, I have something substantial for you. It will show you howcorrect my philosophy is. Just give me permission--""What are you going on about?""About the safety match! Have you forgotten it? I haven't! I amgoing to find out who struck it in the murdered man's room. It wasnot Nicholas that struck it; it was not Psyekoff, for neither ofthem had any matches when they were examined; it was the thirdperson, Maria Ivanovna. I will prove it to you. Just give mepermission to go through the district to find out.""That's enough! Sit down. Let us go on with the examination."Dukovski sat down at a little table, and plunged his long nose in abundle of papers."Bring in Nicholas Tetekhoff!" cried the examining magistrate.They brought Nicholas in. Nicholas was pale and thin as a rail.He was trembling."Tetekhoff!" began Chubikoff. "In 1879 you were tried in the Courtof the First Division, convicted of theft, and sentenced toimprisonment. In 1882 you were tried a second time for theft, andwere again imprisoned. We know all--"Astonishment was depicted on Nicholas's face. The examiningmagistrate's omniscience startled him. But soon his expression ofastonishment changed to extreme indignation. He began to cry andrequested permission to go and wash his face and quiet down. Theyled him away."Brink in Psyekoff!" ordered the examining magistrate. Theybrought in Psyekoff. The young man had changed greatly during thelast few days. He had grown thin and pale, and looked haggard.His eyes had an apathetic expression."Sit down, Psyekoff," said Chubikoff. "I hope that today you aregoing to be reasonable, and will not tell lies, as you did before.All these days you have denied that you had anything to do with themurder of Klausoff, in spite of all the proofs that testify againstyou. That is foolish. Confession will lighten your guilt. Thisis the last time I am going to talk to you. If you do not confessto-day, to-morrow it will be too late. Come, tell me all--""I know nothing about it. I know nothing about your proofs,"answered Psyekoff, almost inaudibly."It's no use! Well, let me relate to you how the matter tookplace. On Saturday evening you were sitting in Klausoff's sleepingroom, and drinking vodka and beer with him." (Dukovski fixed hiseyes on Psyekoff's face, and kept them there all through theexamination.) "Nicholas was waiting on you. At one o'clock,Marcus Ivanovitch announced his intention of going to bed. Healways went to bed at one o'clock. When he was taking off hisboots, and was giving you directions about details of management,you and Nicholas, at a given signal, seized your drunken master andthrew him on the bed. One of you sat on his legs, the other on hishead. Then a third person came in from the passage--a woman in ablack dress, whom you know well, and who had previously arrangedwith you as to her share in your criminal deed. She seized apillow and began to smother him. While the struggle was going onthe candle went out. The woman took a box of safety matches fromher pocket, and lit the candle. Was it not so? I see by your facethat I am speaking the truth. But to go on. After you hadsmothered him, and saw that he had ceased breathing, you andNicholas pulled him out through the window and laid him down nearthe burdock. Fearing that he might come round again, you struckhim with something sharp. Then you carried him away, and laid himdown under a lilac bush for a short time. After resting awhile andconsidering, you carried him across the fence. Then you enteredthe road. After that comes the dam. Near the dam, a peasantfrightened you. Well, what is the matter with you?""I am suffocating!" replied Psyekoff. "Very well--have it so.Only let me go out, please!"They led Psyekoff away."At last! He has confessed!" cried Chubikoff, stretching himselfluxuriously. "He has betrayed himself! And didn't I get round himcleverly! Regularly caught him flapping--""And he doesn't deny the woman in the black dress!" exultedDukovski. "But all the same, that safety match is tormenting mefrightfully. I can't stand it any longer. Good-by! I am off!"Dukovski put on his cap and drove off. Chubikoff began to examineAquilina. Aquilina declared that she knew nothing whatever aboutit.At six that evening Dukovski returned. He was more agitated thanhe had ever been before. His hands trembled so that he could noteven unbutton his greatcoat. His cheeks glowed. It was clear thathe did not come empty-handed."Veni, vidi, vici!" he cried, rushing into Chubikoff's room, andfalling into an armchair. "I swear to you on my honor, I begin tobelieve that I am a genius! Listen, devil take us all! It isfunny, and it is sad. We have caught three already--isn't that so?Well, I have found the fourth, and a woman at that. You will neverbelieve who it is! But listen. I went to Klausoff's village, andbegan to make a spiral round it. I visited all the little shops,public houses, dram shops on the road, everywhere asking for safetymatches. Everywhere they said they hadn't any. I made a wideround. Twenty times I lost faith, and twenty times I got it backagain. I knocked about the whole day, and only an hour ago I goton the track. Three versts from here. They gave me a packet often boxes. One box was missing. Immediately: 'Who bought theother box?' 'Such-a-one! She was pleased with them!' Old man!Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch! See what a fellow who was expelled fromthe seminary and who has read Gaboriau can do! From to-day on Ibegin to respect myself! Oof! Well, come!""Come where?""To her, to number four! We must hurry, otherwise--otherwise I'llburst with impatience! Do you know who she is? You'll neverguess! Olga Petrovna, Marcus Ivanovitch's wife--his own wife--that's who it is! She is the person who bought the matchbox!""You--you--you are out of your mind!""It's quite simple! To begin with, she smokes. Secondly, she washead and ears in love with Klausoff, even after he refused to livein the same house with her, because she was always scolding hishead off. Why, they say she used to beat him because she loved himso much. And then he positively refused to stay in the same house.Love turned sour. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' Butcome along! Quick, or it will be dark. Come!""I am not yet sufficiently crazy to go and disturb a respectablehonorable woman in the middle of the night for a crazy boy!""Respectable, honorable! Do honorable women murder their husbands?After that you are a rag, and not an examining magistrate! I neverventured to call you names before, but now you compel me to. Rag!Dressing-gown!--Dear Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch, do come, I beg ofyou--!"The magistrate made a deprecating motion with his hand."I beg of you! I ask, not for myself, but in the interests ofjustice. I beg you! I implore you! Do what I ask you to, justthis once!"Dukovski went down on his knees."Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch! Be kind! Call me a blackguard, ane'er-do-weel, if I am mistaken about this woman. You see what anaffair it is. What a case it is. A romance! A woman murderingher own husband for love! The fame of it will go all over Russia.They will make you investigator in all important cases.Understand, O foolish old man!"The magistrate frowned, and undecidedly stretched his hand towardhis cap."Oh, the devil take you!" he said. "Let us go!"It was dark when the magistrate's carriage rolled up to the porchof the old country house in which Olga Petrovna had taken refugewith her brother."What pigs we are," said Chubikoff, taking hold of the bell, "todisturb a poor woman like this!""It's all right! It's all right! Don't get frightened! We cansay that we have broken a spring."Chubikoff and Dukovski were met at the threshold by a tall buxomwoman of three and twenty, with pitch-black brows and juicy redlips. It was Olga Petrovna herself, apparently not the leastdistressed by the recent tragedy."Oh, what a pleasant surprise!" she said, smiling broadly. "Youare just in time for supper. Kuzma Petrovitch is not at home. Heis visiting the priest, and has stayed late. But we'll get onwithout him! Be seated. You have come from the examination?""Yes. We broke a spring, you know," began Chubikoff, entering thesitting room and sinking into an armchair."Take her unawares--at once!" whispered Dukovski; "take herunawares!""A spring--hum--yes--so we came in.""Take her unawares, I tell you! She will guess what the matter isif you drag things out like that.""Well, do it yourself as you want. But let me get out of it,"muttered Chubikoff, rising and going to the window."Yes, a spring," began Dukovski, going close to Olga Petrovna andwrinkling his long nose. "We did not drive over here--to takesupper with you or--to see Kuzma Petrovitch. We came here to askyou, respected madam, where Marcus Ivanovitch is, whom youmurdered!""What? Marcus Ivanovitch murdered?" stammered Olga Petrovna, andher broad face suddenly and instantaneously flushed bright scarlet."I don't--understand!""I ask you in the name of the law! Where is Klausoff? We knowall!""Who told you?" Olga Petrovna asked in a low voice, unable toendure Dukovski's glance."Be so good as to show us where he is!""But how did you find out? Who told you?""We know all! I demand it in the name of the law!"The examining magistrate, emboldened by her confusion, came forwardand said:"Show us, and we will go away. Otherwise, we--""What do you want with him?""Madam, what is the use of these questions? We ask you to show us!You tremble, you are agitated. Yes, he has been murdered, and, ifyou must have it, murdered by you! Your accomplices have betrayedyou!"Olga Petrovna grew pale."Come!" she said in a low voice, wringing her hands. "I have him--hid--in the bath house! Only for heaven's sake, do not tell KuzmaPetrovitch. I beg and implore you! He will never forgive me!"Olga Petrovna took down a big key from the wall, and led her gueststhrough the kitchen and passage to the courtyard. The courtyardwas in darkness. Fine rain was falling. Olga Petrovna walked inadvance of them. Chubikoff and Dukovski strode behind her throughthe long grass, as the odor of wild hemp and dishwater splashingunder their feet reached them. The courtyard was wide. Soon thedishwater ceased, and they felt freshly broken earth under theirfeet. In the darkness appeared the shadowy outlines of trees, andamong the trees a little house with a crooked chimney."That is the bath house," said Olga Petrovna. "But I implore you,do not tell my brother! If you do, I'll never hear the end of it!"Going up to the bath house, Chubikoff and Dukovski saw a hugepadlock on the door."Get your candle and matches ready," whispered the examiningmagistrate to his deputy.Olga Petrovna unfastened the padlock, and let her guests into thebath house. Dukovski struck a match and lit up the anteroom. Inthe middle of the anteroom stood a table. On the table, beside asturdy little samovar, stood a soup tureen with cold cabbage soupand a plate with the remnants of some sauce."Forward!"They went into the next room, where the bath was. There was atable there also. On the table was a dish with some ham, a bottleof vodka, plates, knives, forks."But where is it--where is the murdered man?" asked the examiningmagistrate."On the top tier," whispered Olga Petrovna, still pale andtrembling.Dukovski took the candle in his hand and climbed up to the top tierof the sweating frame. There he saw a long human body lyingmotionless on a large feather bed. A slight snore came from thebody."You are making fun of us, devil take it!" cried Dukovski. "Thatis not the murdered man! Some live fool is lying here. Here,whoever you are, the devil take you!"The body drew in a quick breath and stirred. Dukovski stuck hiselbow into it. It raised a hand, stretched itself, and lifted itshead."Who is sneaking in here?" asked a hoarse, heavy bass. "What doyou want?"Dukovski raised the candle to the face of the unknown, and criedout. In the red nose, disheveled, unkempt hair, the pitch-blackmustaches, one of which was jauntily twisted and pointed insolentlytoward the ceiling, he recognized the gallant cavalryman Klausoff."You--Marcus--Ivanovitch? Is it possible?"The examining magistrate glanced sharply up at him, and stoodspellbound."Yes, it is I. That's you, Dukovski? What the devil do you wanthere? And who's that other mug down there? Great snakes! It isthe examining magistrate! What fate has brought him here?"Klausoff rushed down and threw his arms round Chubikoff in acordial embrace. Olga Petrovna slipped through the door."How did you come here? Let's have a drink, devil take it! Tra-ta-ti-to-tum--let us drink! But who brought you here? How did youfind out that I was here? But it doesn't matter! Let's have adrink!"Klausoff lit the lamp and poured out three glasses of vodka."That is--I don't understand you," said the examining magistrate,running his hands over him. "Is this you or not you!""Oh, shut up! You want to preach me a sermon? Don't troubleyourself! Young Dukovski, empty your glass! Friends, let us bringthis--What are you looking at? Drink!""All the same, I do not understand!" said the examining magistrate,mechanically drinking off the vodka. "What are you here for?""Why shouldn't I be here, if I am all right here?"Klausoff drained his glass and took a bite of ham."I am in captivity here, as you see. In solitude, in a cavern,like a ghost or a bogey. Drink! She carried me off and locked meup, and--well, I am living here, in the deserted bath house, like ahermit. I am fed. Next week I think I'll try to get out. I'mtired of it here!""Incomprehensible!" said Dukovski."What is incomprehensible about it?""Incomprehensible! For Heaven's sake, how did your boot get intothe garden?""What boot?""We found one boot in the sleeping room and the other in thegarden.""And what do you want to know that for? It's none of yourbusiness! Why don't you drink, devil take you? If you wakened me,then drink with me! It is an interesting tale, brother, that ofthe boot! I didn't want to go with Olga. I don't like to bebossed. She came under the window and began to abuse me. Shealways was a termagant. You know what women are like, all of them.I was a bit drunk, so I took a boot and heaved it at her. Ha-ha-ha! Teach her not to scold another time! But it didn't! Not abit of it! She climbed in at the window, lit the lamp, and beganto hammer poor tipsy me. She thrashed me, dragged me over here,and locked me in. She feeds me now--on love, vodka, and ham! Butwhere are you off to, Chubikoff? Where are you going?"The examining magistrate swore, and left the bath house. Dukovskifollowed him, crestfallen. They silently took their seats in thecarriage and drove off. The road never seemed to them so long anddisagreeable as it did that time. Both remained silent. Chubikofftrembled with rage all the way. Dukovski hid his nose in thecollar of his overcoat, as if he was afraid that the darkness andthe drizzling rain might read the shame in his face.When they reached home, the examining magistrate found Dr. Tyutyeffawaiting him. The doctor was sitting at the table, and, sighingdeeply, was turning over the pages of the Neva."Such goings-on there are in the world!" he said, meeting theexamining magistrate with a sad smile. "Austria is at it again!And Gladstone also to some extent--"Chubikoff threw his cap under the table, and shook himself."Devils' skeletons! Don't plague me! A thousand times I have toldyou not to bother me with your politics! This is no question ofpolitics! And you," said Chubikoff, turning to Dukovski andshaking his fist, "I won't forget this in a thousand years!""But the safety match? How could I know?""Choke yourself with your safety match! Get out of my way! Don'tmake me mad, or the devil only knows what I'll do to you! Don'tlet me see a trace of you!"Dukovski sighed, took his hat, and went out."I'll go and get drunk," he decided, going through the door, andgloomily wending his way to the public house.
The Safety Match was featured as
TheShort Story of the Day on
Fri, Oct 06, 2023
You may also enjoy our collection of Mystery Stories, and a similar story recommended by our readers, Agatha Christie's The Chocolate Box (not yet in the public domain).
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