hand corner of the room, lay the corpse of Kirillov. The shot had gone into the right temple, and the bullet had come out higher up on the left side, piercing the skull. Spatters of blood and brains could be seen. The revolver had remained in the suicide's hand, which lay on the floor. Death must have occurred instantly. After examining everything carefully, Pyotr Stepanovich stood up and tiptoed out, closed the door, set the candle on the table in the front room, thought a minute, and decided not to put it out, judging that it would not cause a fire. Glancing once more at the document lying on the table, he grinned mechanically, and only then, still tiptoeing for some reason, left the house. He again got through Fedka's passage, and again carefully closed it up behind him.
III
Exactly at ten minutes to six, at the railway station, along the rather long, strung-out line of cars, Pyotr Stepanovich and Erkel were strolling. Pyotr Stepanovich was leaving, and Erkel was saying good-bye to him. His luggage had been checked, his bag taken to a second-class car, to the seat he had chosen. The first bell had already rung, they were waiting for the second. Pyotr Stepanovich looked openly all around him, observing the passengers entering the cars. But he did not meet any close acquaintances; only twice did he have to nod his head—to a merchant he knew distantly, and then to a young village priest, who was leaving for his parish two stations away. Erkel evidently would have liked to talk about something more serious during these last moments— though perhaps he himself did not know precisely what—but he did not dare begin. He kept fancying that Pyotr Stepanovich was as if burdened by him and was waiting impatiently for the remaining bells.
'You look so openly at everybody,' he commented with a certain timidity, as though wishing to warn him.
'And why not? I shouldn't be hiding yet. It's too soon. Don't worry. I'm only afraid the devil may send Liputin; he'll get wind of things and come running.'
'Pyotr Stepanovich, they're unreliable,' Erkel spoke out resolutely.
'Liputin?'
'All of them, Pyotr Stepanovich.'
'Nonsense, they're all bound by yesterday now. None of them will betray us. Who would face obvious ruin, unless he's lost his mind?'
'But, Pyotr Stepanovich, they will lose their minds.'
This thought apparently had already entered Pyotr Stepanovich's head, and therefore Erkel's comment made him still more angry:
'You haven't turned coward, too, Erkel? I'm trusting in you more than all the rest of them. I see now what each of them is worth. Tell them everything today orally, I put them directly in your charge. Run around and see them in the morning. Read them my written instructions tomorrow or the day after, collectively, when they've become capable of listening again... but, believe me, they'll be capable by tomorrow, because they'll be terribly afraid and become obedient, like wax... Above all, don't you lose heart.'
'Ah, Pyotr Stepanovich, it would be better if you weren't leaving!'
'But it's only for a few days; I'll be back in no time.'
'Pyotr Stepanovich,' Erkel uttered cautiously but firmly, 'even if it's to Petersburg. Since I know you only do what's necessary for the common cause.'
'I expected no less of you, Erkel. If you've guessed that I'm going to Petersburg, then you can understand that it was impossible for me to tell them yesterday, at that moment, that I was going so far, lest I frighten them. You saw for yourself how they were. But you understand that it's for the cause, for the main and important cause, for the common cause, and not to slip away, as some Liputin might think.'
'But, Pyotr Stepanovich, even if it's abroad, I'd understand, sir; I'd understand that you must preserve your person, because you're— everything, and we're—nothing. I'd understand, Pyotr Stepanovich.'
The poor boy's voice even trembled.
'Thank you, Erkel... Ow, you touched my bad finger' (Erkel had pressed his hand clumsily; the bad finger was attractively bandaged in black taffeta). 'But I tell you once again positively that I'll just sniff things out in Petersburg, maybe even just overnight, and be back at once. On my return I'll stay at Gaganov's estate, for the sake of appearances. If they think there's danger anywhere, I'll be the first at their head to share it. And if I'm delayed in Petersburg, I'll let you know that same moment... in our usual way, and you can tell them.'
The second bell rang.
'Ah, so it's five minutes to departure. You know, I wouldn't like the crew here to fall apart. I'm not afraid, don't worry about me; I have enough of these knots in the general net, and there's nothing to value especially; but an extra knot won't hurt anything. However, I'm at ease about you, though I'm leaving you almost alone with these freaks: don't worry, they won't inform, they won't dare ... Ahh, you're going today, too?' he cried suddenly in quite a different, cheerful voice to a very young man who cheerfully came up to greet him. 'I didn't know you were also taking the express. Where to, your mama's?'
The young man's mama was a very wealthy landowner of the neighboring province, and the young man was a distant relation of Yulia Mikhailovna's and had spent about two weeks visiting our town.
'No, a bit farther, to R——. I'll be living on the train for a good eight hours. Off to Petersburg?' the young man laughed.
'What makes you think right away that I'm going to Petersburg?' Pyotr Stepanovich also laughed still more openly.
The young man shook a begloved finger at him.
'Well, so you've guessed it,' Pyotr Stepanovich began whispering to him mysteriously. 'I have Yulia Mikhailovna's letters, and must run around and see three or four persons, you know what sort—devil take them, frankly speaking. The devil of a job!'
'But, tell me, why has she turned such a coward?' the young man also began whispering. 'She didn't even let me in yesterday; in my view, she needn't fear for her husband; on the contrary, he made quite an attractive fall there at the fire, even sacrificed his life, so to speak.'
'Well, so it goes,' Pyotr Stepanovich laughed. 'You see, she's afraid they've already written from here ... I mean, certain gentlemen ... In short, there's mainly Stavrogin; Prince K., I mean... Eh, there's a whole story here; maybe I'll tell you a thing or two on the way—no more than chivalry allows, however... This is my relative, Ensign Erkel, from the district capital.'
