Then the official, calling the soldiers, said, “I am the police-officer of this district, and I question you because the merchant with whom you spent last night has been found with his throat cut. We must search your things.”

They entered the house. The soldiers and the police-officer unstrapped Aksyónof’s luggage and searched it. Suddenly the officer drew a knife out of a bag, crying, “Whose knife is this?”

Aksyónof looked, and seeing a bloodstained knife taken from his bag, he was frightened.

“How is it there is blood on this knife?”

Aksyónof tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and only stammered: “I⁠—I don’t know⁠—not mine.”