Don’t be afraid. Tell her that your carriage is broken.”

A tall, plump woman, about twenty-three years old, opened the door for Rusty and Dukovsky. She was a lush brunette, with shining hair and full red lips. It was Olga Petrovna herself.

“Oh, this is so pleasant,” she said. “You have come just in time for dinner. My husband is away on business. But we can have dinner without him. Have a seat, please. Did you come from your investigation?”

“Yes, you see, my carriage has broken next to your house,” said Rusty, entering the living room and taking a seat in an armchair.

“Tell her at once. Scare her!” Dukovsky hissed. “Scare her! Do it now!”

“The carriage, yes. We just decided to drop in.”

“Scare her at once!” Dukovsky whispered again. “Otherwise, if you procrastinate, she will guess that we know.”

“Leave me alone,” Rusty murmured, standing up and going to the window, “I can’t do it! You started this, so you will have to finish it.”

“Yes, the carriage,” said Dukovsky, coming to the woman and wrinkling his long nose. “But we haven’t come to have dinner, or see your husband. We came here to ask you, dear lady, where is Mark Ivanovich, whom you killed?”

“What? Which Mark Ivanovich?” mumbled the woman, blushing all over. “I don’t remember anything.”

“I am asking you in the name of the law. Where is Mr. Banks? We know everything.”

“From whom?” asked the woman, unable to stand Dukovsky’s piercing glance.

“You must show us where he is.”

“But how did you find me? Who told you?”

“We know everything. I insist, in the name of the law!”

The detective, encouraged by the woman’s embarrassment, came to her and said,

“Lead us to his body, and then we will leave. Otherwise, we will have to take legal measures.”

“Why do you want him?”

“Why? Are you asking us questions, dear lady? We should be asking you the questions. You are trembling, and you are embarrassed. Yes, he was murdered, and he was killed by you. You are one of the participants, and the other gang members have given your name to us.”

The doctor’s wife became pale.

“Let’s go,” she said in a quiet voice, clasping her hands.

“I hid him in the bathhouse at the end of our property. But please, I implore you, don’t say anything to my husband. He won’t be able to stand this news.”

The woman took a big key from the nail on the wall, and brought her guests through the back entrance, first to the kitchen and then to the backyard. It was dark outside. A light rain was drizzling. The woman went forward. Rusty and Dukovsky followed her, stepping through the tall grass, smelling the damp scent of the wild weeds and some food scraps which crunched under their feet. It was a big backyard.