"A spring—hum—yes—so we came in."
"Take her unawares, I tell you! She will guess what the matter is if 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 and wrinkling his long nose. "We did not drive over here—to take supper with you or—to see Kuzma Petrovitch. We came here to ask you, respected madam, where Marcus Ivanovitch is, whom you murdered!"
"What? Marcus Ivanovitch murdered?" stammered Olga Petrovna, and her 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 know all!"
"Who told you?" Olga Petrovna asked in a low voice, unable to endure 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!"