Artsybashev-Svistakovsky, the police captain, and Tyutyuev, the doctor, arrived. The police captain greeted the others, and at once proceeded to satisfy his curiosity; the doctor, a tall and extremely lean man with sunken eyes, a long nose, and a sharp chin, greeting no one and asking no questions, sat down on a stump, heaved a sigh, and said:
"The Serbians are in a turmoil again! I can't make out what they want! Ah, Austria, Austria! It's your doing!"
The inspection of the window from outside yielded absolutely no result; the inspection of the grass and surrounding bushes furnished many valuable clues. Dyukovsky succeeded, for instance, in detecting a long, dark streak in the grass, consisting of stains, and stretching from the window for a good many yards into the garden. The streak ended under one of the lilac bushes in a big, brownish stain. Under the same bush was found a boot, which turned out to be the fellow to the one found in the bedroom.
"This is an old stain of blood," said Dyukovsky, examining the stain.
At the word "blood," the doctor got up and lazily took a cursory glance at the stain.
"Yes, it's blood," he muttered.
"Then he wasn't strangled since there's blood," said Tchubikov, looking malignantly at Dyukovsky.
"He was strangled in the bedroom, and here, afraid he would come to, they stabbed him with something sharp. The stain under the bush shows that he lay there for a comparatively long
