He was taken away.

“Bring Mr. Post in,” ordered the detective. They brought Post. The young man had changed a lot during the last few days.

He had lost a lot of weight, and his skin had become pale and papery. Apathy and depression were obvious in his eyes.

“Take a seat, Post,” said Rusty.

“I hope that this time you will be more considerate and won’t lie to us, as you have on previous occasions. For days, you have denied your participation in the murder of Mr. Banks, in spite of the numerous pieces of material evidence which speak against you. This is not logical. If you make a full deposition, your sentence will be reduced. I am requesting your cooperation for the last time. If you don’t accept your guilt by tomorrow, it will be too late. So, start telling us the truth.”

“I don’t know anything. I don’t know any of your material evidence,” said Post.

“You are wrong. Let me tell you how the events developed during the night of the crime. On Saturday night, you sat in Banks’ bedroom, drinking vodka and beer with him.”

At this moment, Dukovsky cast a piercing glance at Post, and did not avert it during the whole monologue.

“Nicholas served you. At some point after midnight, Mark Ivanovich told you that he wanted to go to bed. He always went to sleep at one o’clock. When he was taking off his boots, and giving you orders for the morrow, you and Nicholas, at a particular special sign, jumped at your drunk master, caught him by his hands, and pressed him against the bed. One of you sat on his legs; the other one sat on his head. At that moment, a woman whom you know very well, in a dark-colored dress, came from the entrance hall. You had agreed with her earlier about her participation in this criminal case. She snatched a pillow, and started strangling the poor man with it. During the fight, the candle went down. The woman took out a box of Swedish matches, and lit the candle. It is so? I see from your face that I am telling the truth. Listen further. When you had strangled him, and made certain that he was no longer breathing, you and Nicholas pushed him through the window, and put him under the thistle bush. You were afraid that he might come back to life, so you hit him with something sharp. Then you dragged him to the lilac tree. You were thinking about how to dispose of the body.