Those of you who are not officers, please do not enter!” said the detective, when, after a long period of knocking and cracking the door was opened by dint of axe and chisel. “Please do not enter—this is in the interests of the investigation. Sergeant, don’t let anyone in!”

Rusty, his assistant, and the police chief opened the door and finally entered the bedroom, walking in an undecided manner, one step at a time. There they saw the following. A huge wooden bed with a thick feather mattress stood in front of the only window. A wrinkled blanket lay on the wrinkled mattress. The pillow, in a nice cotton pillowcase, also very wrinkled, lay on the floor. A nickel coin and a silver pocket watch lay on the bedside table. There was a box of sulfur matches next to them. There was no other furniture—only the bed, the table, and one chair. The sergeant looked under the bed and saw about twenty empty liquor bottles, an old straw hat, and a quart of vodka there. There was a boot covered with dust under the table. The detective cast a glance at the room, frowned, and then blushed.

“Scoundrels,” he mumbled, pressing his fists together.

“And where is Mark Ivanovich?” asked Dukovsky quietly.

“I told you not to interfere!” Rusty responded rudely. “You’d better study the floor. This looks like another case in my practice. Evgraf Koozmich,” he addressed the sergeant in a lower voice, “I had a similar case, it was about twenty years ago, you should remember. The murder of merchant Portraitov. The same thing: the scoundrels killed him and dragged the dead body through the window.”

Rusty went to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and carefully lifted the windowpane. It opened.

“It opens. This means it was not locked. Hmm. There are some scratches and traces on the windowsill. Do you see them? Here, a trace from somebody’s knee. Someone came from the outside. We should make a detailed examination of the window.”

“I don’t see anything special on the floor though,” Dukovsky said. “No spots, or scratches. I found only one bruised Swedish match. Here it is! As far as I remember, Mark Ivanovich did not smoke and as a rule, he used safety sulfur matches, not the Swedish ones. This match could be material evidence.”

“Oh, shut up please!” the detective shook his head. “You and your matches! I can’t put up with these clever fellows.