CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Thomas G. Helfrich Class of 196^ CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924088479823 THE LOCK AND KEY LIBRARY CLASSIC MYSTERY AND DETECTIVE STORIES OF ALL NATIONS TEN VOLUMES North Europe Mediterranean German Classic French Modern French French Novels Old Time English Modern English American Real Life TRANSLATORS whose work is represented in tiiis collection of "CLASSIC MYSTERY and DETECTIVE ^S'TORIES," -iiany \liere rendered into English for the first time ^Arthor ARRivrr . . *. . . . .' . ; Japanese John P. Bkqwn; . . .J . . CV .... . .Turkish United States Legation, Constantinople ' Jonathan Sturges French Sir Richard Francis Borton . ' Arabic Lady Isabel Burton Arabic Gracz^ I. CoLBxoN .... German-Scandinavian Frederick Taber Coofu, Ph.D. Romance Languages George F. DuYSTERs , . . j • 'ittt,.- - :i • . • Spanish Herbert A. Giles Chinese British Consular Service Glanvill Gill . French D. F. Hannigan, LL.B French Louis Hoffmann Freflch Florence Irwin French Charles Johnston Russian-Oriental Royal Asiatic Society, Indian Civil Service Eugene Lucas Hungarian R Shelton Mackenzie French Ellen Marriage French John A. P:erce French W. R. S. Ralston, M.A Tibetan Edward Rehatsek Peisien Royal Asiatic Society, Examiner Bombay University George Rawlinson, M.A. (Oxon.) .... Greek Mary J. Safford French Franz Anton von Schiefner Tibetan Librarijin, St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences Charles Henry Tawkev, M.A., CLE. . . . Hindoo Librarian. India Office R. Whittling, M.A. (Oxon.) French Edward Zieglzr German 'Your Queen Has Lost,' Said Chekalinsky Politely. Herman Started ; instead of an Ace " To illustrate " The Queen of Spades," by Pushkin LOCK AND KEY LIBRARY S THE MOST INTERESTING STORIES OF; ALL NATIONS Julian Hawthorne C^^^ NORTH EUROPE Russian Swedish Danish Hungarian - /s jj Copyright, 1909, by Thb Review of Reviews Cohpanv Tahle of Contents PAOB Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin The Queen of Spades ....»,«■,. j> Vera Jelihovsky The General's Will . . . , .*«»„.. 39 Feodor MiKHAiLovrrcH Dostoyevsky Crime and Punishment ......... 69 Antow Crekhoff The Safety Match . . , . r » « » m » 15/ VsEVOLOD Vladimirovitch Kbestovski Knights of Industry . . . .«,:«,«. 180 ToRGEN Wilhelm: Bergsoe The Amputated Arms . . . •> « » a :■ k 242 Otto Labsseh The Manuscript . . % v 'r. m w m » • 260 Behnhard Severin Ingemann The Sealed Room . . . . «;«:«:«». 27E Steeit Steensen Bucber The Rector of Veilbye 278 HUNGARIAN MYSTERY STORIES Ferencz Molnar The living Death . . . .... ^ ... .> ^ 305 7 Table of Contents MaURUS JoKAI »A6* Thirteen at Table 3IS Etienne Barsony The Dancing iJear . . . ., :., 3S6 Arthur Elck The Tower Room . .. . „ »: . » , , <. . .3^4 Russian Mystery Stories Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin The Queen oj Spades I 'T'HERE was a card party at the rooms of Naroumoff, of the Horse Guards. The long winter night passed away imperceptibly, and it was five p'clock in the morning be- fore the company sat down to supper. Those who had won ate with a good appetite ; the others sat staring absently at their empty plates. When the champagne appeared, how- ever, the conversation became more animated, and all took a part in it. " And how did you fare, Souirin ? " asked the host. " Oh, I lost, as usual. I must confess that I am unlucky. I play mirandole, I always keep cool, I never alk>w anything to put me out, and yet I always lose ! " " And you did not once allow yourself to be tempted to back the red? Your firmness astonishes me." " But what do you think of Hermann ? " said one of the guests, pointing to a young engineer. " He has never had a card in his hand in his life, he has never in his life laid a wager ; and yet he sits here till five o'clock in the morning watching our play." " Play interests me very much," said Hermann, " but I am not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous." " Hermann is a German ; he is economical — ^that is all ! " observed Tomsky. " But if there is one person that I cannot understand, it is my grandmother, the Countess Anna Fedoroyna ! " " How so? " inquired the guests. o Russian Mystery Stories "I cannot understand," continued Tomsky, "how it is that my grandmother does not punt.".f " Thefe- ybU* do not 'know th^ tfiason #Hy f " " No, really; I haven't the faintest idea. But let me tell you the story.. You must know that about sixty years ago my grandmother went to Par'is, where she created quite a sensation. People used to run after her, to catch a glimpse of the ' Muscovite Venus.' Richelieu made love to her, and my grandmother maintains that he almost blew out his brains in consequence of her cruelty. At that time ladies used to play at faro. On one occasion at the Court, she lost a very considerable sum to the Duke of Orleans. On returning home, my grandmother removed the patches from her face, took off her hoops, informed my gr^iridfather of her loss' at the gaming-table, and ordered 'him to pay the money. My deceased grandfather, as far as I remember, was a sort of house-steward to my grandmother. He dreaded her like fire ; but, on hearing: of such a heavy loss, he almost went out of his mind. He calculated the various sums she had lost, and pointed out! to her that in six months she had spent -half a million ..of; francs; that neither, their Moscow nor SaratofI estates were in Paris; and, finally, refused point-blank to pay the debt. My grand' mother gave him a box on the ear and slept by herself as a sign of her displeasure. The next day she sent for her husband, hoping that this domestic punishment had pro- duced an effect upon him, but she found him inflexible. For the first time in her Hfe she entered: into reasonings and explanations with him, thinking to be able to convince him by pointing out to him that there are debts and debts, and that there is a great difference between a prince and a coachmaker. " But it was all in vain, my grandfather still re- mained obdurate. But the matter did not rest there. My grandmother did not know what to do. . She had shortly before become acquainted with a very remarkable man. You have heard of Count St. Germain, about whom so many marvelous stories are told. You know that he represented Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin himself as the Wandering Jew, as the discoverer of the elixir of life, of the philosopher's stone, and so forth. Some laughed at him as a charlatan ; but;, Casnova, in his memoirs, says that he was ci spy. But be that as it may, St. Germain, in spite of the mystery surrounding him, was a very fas- cinating person, and was much sought after in the best circles of society. Even to this day my grandmother retains an, af- fectionate recollection of him, and becomes quite angry if" anyone speaks disrespectfully of him. My grandmother knew that St. Germain had large sums of money at his dis- posal. She resolved to have recourse to him, and she wrote a letter to him asking him to come to her without delay. The queer old man immediately waited upon her, and found her overwhelmed with grief. She described to him in the blackest colors the barbarity of her husband, and ended by declaring that her whole hope depended upon his friend- ship and amiability. " St. Germain reflected, " ' I could advance you the sum you want/ said he, ' but I know that you would not rest easy until you had paid me back, and -I should not like to bring fresh troubles upon you. But there is another way of getting out of yoUr dif^ ficuity : you can win back your money.' "'But, my dear Count,' replied my grandmother, ' I tell you that I haven't any money left ! ' "' Money is riot necessary,' replied St. Germain, 'be pleiased to listen to me,' " Then he i-evealed to her a secret, for which each o;E us would give a good deal." The young officers listened with increased attention, Tom- sky lit iiis pipe, puffed away for a moment, and then coa- tiriued :'*''■ ' ■ ' ■ " :■'<■- " That same evening my graridmother went to Versailleis' to ,^he im de la reine. The Duke of Orleans kept ^the bank ; my grandmother excused herself in an offhanded' manner for not having yet paid her debt by inventing som* little story, and then began to play against him. She chos* three cards and played them one after the other; all three if Russian Mystery Stories # won spnika,* and my grandmother recovered every far- thing that she lost." " Mere chance ! " said one of the guests. " A tale ! " observed li^ripann. " Perhaps they were marked card's! " said a third. " I do hot think so," replied Tomsky, gravely. " What ! " said Naroumoff, " you have a grandmother who knows how to hit upon three lucky cards in succession, and you have never yet succeeded in getting the secret of it out of her?" ' " Tha,t's the deuce oi it! " replied Tomsky, " she had four sons, one of whom was my father; all four were determined ^kmblers^ and yet not to one ,of them did she ever reveal her secret, although it would not have beeii a bad thing either for them or for rjics But this is what I, heard from my ufacle. Count Ivan Hitch, and he assured me, on his honor, that it was true. The late Chaplitsky-^the , same who died in poverty after having squandered n)illipns-r-5once lost, jn his youth, about three hundred thousand roubles —to Zoritch, if I f:epiember rightly. He was in despair. My grandpiQtneir, who was always very severe upon the ex- travagancy of young men, took pity, however, upon Chap- litsky. She gave him three cards telling him to play them one after the ot^er, at the, same time , exacting from him a solemn promise that he ;>yould never play at cards again as long as he^liyesd. jChaplitsky then went to his victorious lopponerit, and they began a fresh game. On the first card Jie staked fifty thousand roubles, and won sonika; h* dou- bled the stake, and won again ; till at last, ty pursuing the same tactics, he yion bask more than he had lost." "But it is time to go to bed, it is, a quarter to six. already." Arid, indeed, it was already beginning to dawn ; the young men emptied their glasses and then took leave of each other. 'Said at a card when it vrins or loses in the quickest possible 13 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin II The old Countess A was seated in her dressing- room in front of her looking-glass. Three waiting maids stood around her. One held a small pot of rouge, another a box of hairpins, and the third a tall cap with bright red rib- bons. The Countess had no longer the slightest preten- sions to beauty, but she still preserved the:)ia.bits. of her youth, dressed in strict accordance with the fashion of seventy years before, and made as long and as careful a toilette as she would have done sixty years previously. Near the window, at an embroidery frame, sat a young lady, her ward. " Good-morning, grandmamma," said a young oflficer> en- tering the room. "Bon jour, Mademoiselle Lise. Grand- mamma, I want to ask- you something." "What is it, Paul?" " I want you to let riie introduce one of my friends to 'you, and to alloW nie to bring him to the ball on Friday." "Bring him direct to the ball and inti-oduce him to me there. Were you at B 's yesterday ? " "Yes; everything went off very pleasantly, and dancing was kept up until five o'clock. How charming Eletskaia was!" . " But, my dear, what is there charming about her? Isn't she like her grandmother, the Princess Daria Petrovna? By the way, she must be very old, the Princess Daria Pet- rovna ? " " How do you mean, old ? " cried Tomsky, thoughtlessly, " she died seven years ago." The young lady raised her head, and made a sign to the young officer. He then remembered that the old Countess was never to be informed of the death of her contempo- raries, and he bit his lips. But the old Countess heard the, news with the greatest indifference. ^ " Dead ! " sE^id she, " and I did not know it. We were ap- Russian Mystery Stories <# pointed maids of honor at the same time, and when we were presented to the Empress " And the Countess for the hundredth time related to her grandson one of her anecdotes. " Come, Paul," said she, when she had finished her story, " help me to get up. Lizanka,* where is my snuffbox ? " And the Countess with her three maids went behind a screen to finish her toilette. Tomsky was left alone with the young lady. "Who is the gentleman you wish to introduce to the Countess ? " asked Lizaveta Ivanovna in a whisper. " Naroumoff. Do you know him? " " No. Is he a soldier or a civilian ? " "A soldier." *' Is he in the Engineers ? " " No, in the Cavalry, What made you think that he was in the Engineers ? " The young lady smiled, but made no reply. "' Paul," cried the Countess from behind the screen, " send tne some new novel, only pray don't let it be one of the present day style." " What do you mean, grandmother ? " " That is, a novel, in which the hero strangles neither his father nor his mother, and in which there are no drowned foodies. I have a great horror of drowned persons." " There are no such novels nowadays. Would you like a Russian one ? " " Are there any Russian novels ? Send me one, my dear, pray send me one ! " "Good-by, grandmother. I am in a hurry. . . . Good- by, Lizavetta Ivanovna. What made you think that Narou- moff was in the Engineers ? " And Tomsky left the boudoir. Lizaveta Ivanovna was left alone. She laid aside her work, and began to look out of the window. A few mo- ments afterwards, at a corner house on the other side of the street, a young officer appeared. A deep flush covered • Diminutive of Lizaveta (Elizabeth). 14 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin ^ her cheeks ; she took up her work again, and bent her head down over the frame. At the same moment the Countess returned, completely dressed, " Order the carriage, Lizaveta," said she, " we will go out for a drive." Lizaveta rose from the frame, and began to arrange her work. " What is the matter with you, my child, are you deaf ? '* cried the Couhtess. "Order the carriage to be got ready at once." " I will do so this moment," replied the young lady, hastening into the anteroom. A servant entered and gave the Countess some books from Prince Paul Alexandrovitch. " Tell him that I am much obliged to him," said the Coun- tess. " Lizaveta ! Lizaveta ! where are you running to ? " " I am going to dress." " There is plenty of time, my dear. Sit down here. Open the first volume and read to me aloud." Her companion took the book and read a few lines. " Louder;" said the Countess, " What is the matter with you, my child? Have you lost your voice? Wait Give me that footstool — a little nearer — ^that will do! " Lizaveta. read two more pages. The Countess yawned. " Put the book dbwn," said she, " what a lot of nonsense f Send it back to Prince Paul with my thanks. . . . But where: is the carriage? " ^' The carriage is ready," said Lizaveta, looking out into the street. ' " How is it that you are not dressed ? " said the Countess. " I must always wait for you. It is intolerable, my dear ! " Liza hastened to her room. She had not been there two minutes before the Countess began to ring with ail her might. The three waiting-maids came running in at one door, and the valet at another. " How is it that you cannot hear me when I ring for you ? " said ihe Countess. " Tell Lizaveta Ivanovna that I am waiting for her." .. Russian Mystery Stories t Lizaveta returned with her hat and cloak on, '* At last you are here !" said the Coiintess. "But why Such an elahorate toilette? Whom, do you intend to capti- vate ? What, sort of weather is it ? It seems rather windy." " No, your Ladyship, it is very calm," replied the valet. " You never think of what you are talking about. Open the window. So it is ; windy and bitterly cold. Unharness the horses, Lizaveta, we won't go out — ^there was no need tQ deck yourself like, that." " What a life is mine ! " thought Lizaveta Ivanovna. And, in truth, Lizaveta Ivanovna was a very unfortunate creature. " The bread of the stranger is bitter," says Dante, " and his staircase hard to climb." But who can know what the bitterness of dependence is so ,weh as the poor compan- ion of an old lady of quality? The Countess A had by no means a bad heart, but she was capricious, like a woman who had been spoiled by the world, as well as being avari- cious and egotistical, like all old people, who have seen their best days, and whose thoughts are with the past, and not the present. She participated in all the vanities of the great world, went to balls, where she sat in a corner, painted and dressed in old-fashioned style, like a deformed but in- dispensable ornament of the ballroom; all the guests on entering approached her and made a profound bow,, as if in accordance with a set ceremony, but after that nobody topk any further notice of her. She received the whole town at' her house, and observed the strictest etiquette, al- though she could no longer recognize the faces of people, tier numerous domestics, growing fat and old in her ante- chaipber and servants' hall,, (did just as they liked, and vied with each other in robbing the aged Countess in the most bare-faced manner. Lizaveta Ivanovna was the martyr of the household. She made tea, and was reproached with us- ing too much sugar ; she read novels aloud to the Countess, arid the faults of the autho^ were visited upon her head; she accompanied the Countes^jp her walks, and was held answerable for the weather or the state of the pavement. A salary was attached to the post, but she very rarely re- i6 Alexaftder Sergeievitch Pmhkin ceived it, although she was expected to dress like every- body else, that is to say, like very few indeed. In society she played the most pitiable role. Everybody knew her, and nobody paid her any attention. At balls she danced only ■when a partner was wanted, and ladies would only take hold of her arm when it was necessary to lead her out of the room to attend to their dresses. She was very self-con- scious, and felt her position keenly, and she looked about her with impatience for a deliverer to come to her rescue ; but the young men, calculating in their giddiness, honored her with but very little attention, although Lizaveta Ivan- ovna was a hundred times prettier than the bare- faced, cold- hearted marriageable girls around whom they hovered- Many a time did she quietly slink away from the glittering, but wearisome, drawingf-room, to go and cry in her own poor little room, in which stood a screen, a chest of draw- ers, a looking-glass, and a painted bedstead, and where a tallow candle burnt feebly in a copper candle-stick. One morning — this was about two days after the evening party described at the beginning of this story, and a week previous to the scene at which we have just assisted — Lizaveta Ivanovna was seated near the window at her em- broidery frame, when, happening to look out into the street, she caught sight of a young Engineer ofScer, standing mo- tionless with his eyes fixed upon her window. She low- ered her head, and went on again with her work. About five minutes afterwards she looked out again — the young officer was still standing in the same place. Not being in the habit of coquetting with passing officers, she did not continue to gaze out into the street, but went on sewing for a couple of hours, without raising her head. Dinner was announced. She rose up and began to put her em- broidery away, but glancing casually out of the window, she perceived the officer again. This seemed to her very strange. After dinner she went to the window with a certain feeling of uneasiness, but the officer was no longer there — and she thought no more about him. A couple of days afterwards, just as she was stepping into Russian Mystery Stories the carriage with the Countess, she saw him again. He was standing dose behind the door, with his face half -concealed iby his fur collar, but his dark eyes sparkled, beneath his cap. Lizaveta felt alarmed, though she knew not why, and she trembled as she seated herself in the carriage. On returning home, she hastened to the window — the officer was standing in his accustomed place, with his eyes fixed upon her. She drew back, a prey to curiosity, a.nd agitated by a feeling which was quite new to her. From that time forward not a day passed without the young officer making his appearance under the. y/indow at the customary . hour, and between him and her there was established a sort of mute acquaintance. Sitting in her place a.t work, she used to feel his approach, and, raising her head, she would loo^ at him longer and longer, each day. The joung man seemed to be very grateful to her ; she saw with the sharp eye of youth, how. a sudden flush covered his pale cheeks each time that, their glances met. After about a week shq poimraenced to smile at him. ... When Tomsky asked permission of his grandmother, the Countess, to present one of his friends to her, the young girl's heart beat violently. But hearing that Naroumoff was not an Engineer, she regretted that by her thoughtless ques- tion, she had betrayed her secret to the volatile Tomsky. Hermann was the son of a. Qerman who had become a naturalized Russian, and from whom he had iiiiherited a small capital. Being firmly convinced of the necessity of preserving his independence, Hermann did not touch his private income, but lived on his pay, without allowing him- self the slightest luxury. Moreover, he was reserved and ambitious, and his companions rarely had an opportunity of making merry at the expense of his extreme parsimony. He had strong passions and an ardent imagination, but his firm- ness of disposition preserved. him from the ordinary errors of young men. Thus, though a gamester at heart, he never touched a card, for he considered his position did not allow him — as he said — "to risk the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous," yet he would sit for nights to- .18 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin gether at the card table and follow with feverish anxiety the diiSferent turns of the game. The story of the three cards had produced a powerful impression upon his imagination, and all night long he could think of nothing else. " If," he thought to himself the following evening, as he walked along the streets of St. Petersburg, "if the old Countess would not reveal her secret to me ! Jf she would only tell me the names of the three winning cards. Why should I not try my fortune ? I mtist get introduced to her and win her favor — ^become her lover. . . . But all that will take time, and she is eighty- seven years old. She might be dead in a week, in a couple of days even. But the story itself? Can it really be true? No! Economy, temperance, and industry; those are my three winning cards; by means of them I shall be able to double my capital^ncrease it sevenfold, and procure for myself ease and independence." Musing in this manner, he walked on until he found him- self in one of the. principal streets of St. Petersburg, in front of a house of antiquated architecture. The street was blocked with equipages; carriages one after the other drew up in front of the brilliantly illuminated doorway. At one moment there stepped out onto the pavement the well- shaped little foot of some young beauty, at another the heavy. boot of a cavalry officer, and then the silk stockings and shoes of a member of the diplomatic world. Fur and cloaks passed in rapid succession before the gigantic porter at the entrance. Hermann stopped. " Whose house is this?" he asked of the watchman at the corner. " The Countess A 's," replied the watchman: Hermann started. The strange story of the three cards again presented itself to his imagination. He began walk- ing up and down before the house, thinking of its owner and her strange secret. Returning late to his modest lodg- ing, he could not go to sleep for a long time, and when at last he did doze off, he could dream of nothing but cards, green tables, piles of banknotes, and heaps of ducats. He played one card after the other, winning uninterruptedly, 19 Russian Mystery Stories • and then he gathered up the gold and filled his pockets with the notes. When he woke up late the next morning, he sighed over the loss of his imaginary wealth, and then sallying out into the town, he found himself once more in front of the Countess's residence. Some unknown power seemed to have attracted him thither. He stopped and looked up at the windows. At one of these he saw a head with luxuriant black hair, which was bent down, prob- ably over some book or an embroidery frame. The head was raised. Hermann saw a fresh complexion, and a pair of dark eyes. That moment decided his fate. in LiZAVETA IvANovNA had Scarcely taken off her hat and cloak, when the Countess sent for her, and again ordered her to get the carriage ready. The vehicle drew up before the door, and they prepared to take their seats. Just at the moment when two footmen were assisting the old lady to enter the carriage, Lizaveta saw her Engineer standing close beside the wheel; he grasped her hand; alarm caused her to lose her presence of mind, and the young man disap- peared — ^but not before he had left a letter between her fingers. She concealed it in her glove, and during the whole of the drive she neither saw nor heard anything. It was the custom of the Countess, when out for an air- ing in her carriage, to be constantly asking such questions as " Who was that person that met us just now ? What is the name of this bridge? What is written on that sign- board ? " On this occasion, however, Lizaveta returned such vague and absurd answers, that tlie Countess became angry with her. " What is the matter with you, my dear ? " she exclaimed. " Have you taken leave of your senses, or what is it? Do ^ou not hear me or understand what I say? Heaven be thanked, I am still in my right mind and speak plainly enough ! " 20 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin . Lizaveta Ivanovna did not hear her. On returning home she ran to her room, ^nd. drew the letter out of her glove: it wa.s not sealed., Lizaveta read it. The letter contained a declaration of love; it was tender, respectful, and copied word for word from a German novel. But Lizaveta, did not know anything of the German language, and she was quite delighted. For all that, the letter, caused her to feel exceedingly- uneasy. For the first time in her life she was entering into secret and . confidential relations with a young man. His boldness alarmed her. She reproached herself for her imprudent behavior, and knew not what to do. Should she cease to sit at the winjio\y, and, by assuming an appearance of indifference towards him,. put a check upon the young officer's desire for further acquaintance with her? Should she send his letter back to him, or should she answer him in a cold and decided manner? There was nobpdy to whom she could turn in her perplexity, for she had neither female friend nor adviser. At length she resolved to reply to him, , She sat down at her little writing table, took pen and paper, and began to think. Several, times she began her letter and then tore it up; the way she had expressed her- self seemed to her either too inviting or too cold and de- cisive. At last she succeeded in writing a few lines with which she felt satisfied. " I am convinced,", she wrote, "that your intentions are honorable, and that you do not wish to offend me by any impri^dent behavior, but our acquaintance must not begip. in such a manner. I return you your letter, and I hope that I shall never tsave any cause to complain of this un- deserved slight." The next day, as soon as Hermann made hisi appear- ance, Lizaveta rose froni her embroidery, went into the drawing-room, opened the ventilator, and threw the letter into the street, trusting that the young officer would have the perception to pick it up, Hermann hastened forward, picked it up, and then re* 21 Russian Mystery Stories • paired to a confectioner's shop. Breaking the seal of the envelope, he found inside it his own letter and Lizaveta's reply. He had expected this, and he returned home, his mind deeply occupied with his intrigue. Three days afterwards a bright-eyed young girl from a milliner's establishment brought Lizaveta a letter. Liza- veta opened it with great uneasiness, fearing that it was a demand for money, when, suddenly, she recognized Her- mann's handwriting. " You have made a mistake, my dear," said she. " This letter is not for me." "Oh, yes, it is for you," replied the girl, smiling very knowingly. " Have the goodness to read it." Lizaveta glanced at the letter. Hermann requested an interview. " It cannot be," she cried, alarmed at the audacious re- quest and the manner in which it was made. " This letter is certainly not for me," and she tore it into fragments. "If the letter was not for you, why have' you torn it up ? " said the girl. " I should have given it back to the per- son who sent it." " Be good enough, my dear," said Lizaveta, disconcerted by this remark, "not to bring me any more letters for the future, and tell the person who sent you that he ought to be ashamed." But Hermann was not the man to be thus put off. Every day Lizaveta received from him a letter, sent now in this way, now in that; They were no longer translated from the German. Hermann wrote them under the inspiration of passion, and spoke in his own language, and they bore full testimony to the inflexibility of his desire, and the dis- ordered condition of his uncontrollable imagination. Liza- veta no longer thought of sending them back to him ; she became intoxicated with them, and began to reply to them, and little by little her answers became longer and more affectionate. At last she threw out of the window to him the following letter; " This evening there is going to be a ball at the Embassy. 22 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin The Countess will be there, We shall remain until two o'clock. You have now an opportunity of seeing me alone. As soon as the Countess is gone, the servants will very probably go out, and there will be nobody left but the Swiss, but he usually goes to sleep in his lodge. Come about half-past eleven. Walk straight upstairs. If you meet anybody in the anteroom, ask if the Countess is at home. You will be told ' No,' in which case there will be nothing left for you to do but to go away again. But it is most probable that you will meet nobody. The maidser- vants will all be together in one room. On leaving the anteroom, turn to the left, and walk straight on until you reach the Countess's bedroom. In the bedroom, behind a screen, you will find two doors : the one on the right leads to a cabinet, which the Countess never enters; the one on the left leads to a corridor, at the end of which is a little winding staircase ; this leads to my room." Hermann trembled like a tiger as he waited for the ap- pointed time to arrive. At ten o'clock in the evening he was already in front of the Countess's house. The vi?eather was terrible ; the wind blew with great violence, the sleety snow fell in large flakes, the lamps emitted a feeble light, the streets were deserted ; from time to time a sledge drawn by a sorry-looking hack, passed by on the lookout for a be- lated passenger. Hermann was enveloped in a thick over- coat, and felt neither wind nor snow. At last the Countess's carriage drew up. Hermann saw two footmen carry out in their arms the bent form of the old lady, wrapped in sable fur, and immediately behind her, clad in a warm mantle, and with her head ornamented with a wreath of fresh flowers, followed Lizaveta. The door was closed. The carriage rolled heavily away through the yielding snow. The porter shut the street door, the windows became dark. Hermann began walking up and down near the deserted house ; at length he stopped under a lamp, and glanced at his watch : it was twenty minutes past eleven. He remained standing under the lamp, his eyes fixed upon the watch 23 Russian Mystery Stories ^ impatiently waiting for the remaining minutes to pass. At half-past eleven precisely Hermann ascended the steps of the house aiid made his way into the brightly-illuminated vestibule. The porter was hot there. Hermann hastily as- cended the staircase, opened the door of the anteroom, and saw a footnian sitting asleep in an antique chair by the side of a lamp. With a light, firni step Hermann passed by him. The drawing-room and dining-room were in dark- ness, but a feeble reflection penetrated thither frorri the lamp in the anteroom. Hermann reached the Countess's bedroom. Before a shrine, which was full of old images, a golden lamp was burning. Faded stuffed chairs and divans with soft cushions stood in melancholy s'ymrrietry around the rooin, the walls of which were hung with china silk. On one side of the room huiflg two portraits painted in Paris by Madame Le- brun. One of these represented a stout, red- faced man of about forty years of age, in a bright green uniform, and with a' star upon his breast; the other-^a beautiful young woman, with an aquiline nose, forehead curls, and a rose in her powdered hair. In the corner stood porcelain shep- herds and shepherdesses, dining-room clocks from the work- shop of the celebrated Lefroy, bandboxes, roulettes, fans, and the various .playthings for the amusement of ladies that were in vogue at the eind of the last century, when Montgolfier's balloons and Niesber's magnetism were the rage. Hermann stepped behind the screen. At the back of it stood a little iron bedstead ; on the right was the door which led to the cabinet; on the left, the other which led to the corridor. He opened the latter, and saw the little wind- ing staircase which led to the room of the poor companion. But he retraced his steps and entered the dark cabinet. The time passed slowly. All was still. The clock in the 4rawing-room struck twelve, the strokes echoed through the room one after the other, and everything was quiet again. Hermann stood leaning against the cold stove. He was calm, his heart beat regularly, like that of a man resolved upon a dangerous but inevitable undertaking. One o'clock- 24 Ale^qinder Sergeievikft Pushkin in the morning struck; then ,tw,q,^ and he heard, the distant noise of carriage-wheels. An involuntary agitation took possession of him. .T.hp '^^''"^S^ '^'"^w near rand stopped. IJ« heard the sound of the; carriage steps, being let down. All was bustle within, the hovise. The servants were run^ ning hither and thither, there was a confusion of voices, and the rooms were lit up. Three antiquated chambermaids en- tered the bedrponi, and they were,,shortly afterwards fol- lowed by, the Countess, who, more dej^d than alive, sank into a Voltaire armchair. Hermann peeped through a chink. Lizaveta jivanovna passed close by him, and he heard her hurried steps as she hastened up the little spiral sltaircase. For a moment his heart was assailed by something like a pricking of conscience, but the .emotion was only transitory, and his heart became petriUfdas before. i , , The Countess began to undress before her looking-gJas§, Her rose-bedecked cap was taken off, and then her pow- dered wig was removed from off her white and closely ciit hair. Hairpins fell in showers around her. Her yel- low satin dress, brocaded with silver, fell down at her swollen feet. Hermann was a vvitness of the repugnant mysteries of her toilette; at last the Countess yiras in her night-cap and dress- ing-gown, and in this costume, more suitable to her age, she appeared lesS; hideous and deformed. Like all old people, in general, the Countess , suffered from sleeplessness. Having undressed, she seaited. herself at the window in a Voltaire armphair, a^id, dismissed her tnaids. ; The candles were taken away, and once more the room was left with only one lamp burning in it. The Countess sat there looking quite yellow, mumbling witlj her flaccid lips and swaying to and fro; Her dull eyes ex?- pressed complete vacancy of mind, and, looking at her, one would have thought that the rocking of her body was not a voluntary action of her own, but was produced by the action of some concealed galvanic mechanism. Suddenly the death-like face assumed an inexplicable lexpression. . The lips ceased to tremble, the eyes be- 25 Russian Mystery Stories ^ came animated: before the Countess stood an unknown man. " Do not be alarmed, for Heaven's sake, do not be alarmed ! " said he in a low but distinct voice. " I have no intention of doing you any harm ; I have only come to ask a favor of you." The old woman looked at him in silence, as if she had not heard what he had said. Hermann thought that she was deaf, and, bending dowfl towards her ear, he repeated what he had said. The aged Countess remained silent as before. " You can insure the happiness of my life," continued Hermann, " and it will cost you nothing. I know that you can name three cards in order " Hermann. stopped. The Countess appeared now to under- stand what he wanted; she seemed as if seeking for words to reply. " It was a joke," she replied at last. " I assure you it was only a joke." " There is no joking about the matter," replied Her- mann, angrily. " Remember ChapHtsky, whom you helped to win." The Countess became visibly uneasy. Her features ex- pressed strong emotion, but they quickly resumed their fof- mer imthobility. " Can you not name me these three winning cards ? " con- tinued Hermann. The Countess remained silent; Hermann continued: "For whom are you preserving your secret? For your grandsons? They are rich enough without it, they do not know the worth of money. Your cards would be of no use to a spendthrift. He who cannot preserve his pater- nal inheritance will die in want, even though he had a demon at his service. I am not a man of that sort. I know the value Of money. Your three cards will not be thrown away upon me. ' Come ! " He paused and' tremblingly awaited her reply. The Coun- tess remained silent. Hermann fell upon his knees. " If your heart has ever known the feeling of love," said 26 Alexand^er Sergeievitch Pushkin he, "if you remember its rapture, if you have ever smiled at the cry of your new-born child, if any human feeling has ever entered into your breast, I entreat you by the feelings of a wife, a lover, a mother, by all that is most sacred in life, not .1;o, reject my prayer. Reveal to me your secret. Of what,tise is it to you? May be it is connected with some terrible sin, with the loss of eternal salvation, with some bargain with the devil. , Reflect, you are old, you have not long to live — I am ready to take your sins upon my soul. Only reveal to me your secret, Remember that the happi- ness of a man is , in your hands, that not only I, but my children and my grandchildren, will, bless your memory and reverence you as a saint." The old. Countess answered not a word. Hermann rose to his feet. / " You old hag ! " he exclaimed, grinding his teeth, " then I will make you answer ! " With these words he drew a pistol from his pocket. At the sight of the pistol, the Coun- tess for the second time exhibited strong emotions. She shook her head, and raised her hands as if to protect her- self from the shot. Then she fell backwards, and remained motionless. .; " Come, an end to this childish nonsense ! " said • Her- mann, taking hold of her hand. " I ask you for the last time : will you tell me the names of your three cards, or will you not ? " The Countess made no reply. Hermarm perceived that she was dead! IV LizAVETA IvANOVNA was sitting in her room, still in her ball dress, lost in deep thought. On returning home, she had hastily dismissed the chambermaid, who very reluctantly came forward to assist her, saying that she would undress herself, and -ivith a trembling heart had gone up to her own room, expecting to find Hermann there, but yet hoping not to find hiin. At the first glance he was not there, and she Russian Mystery Stories thanked her fate for having prevented him keeping the ap- pointment. She sat down without undressing, and began to call to mind all the circumstances which in a short time had carried her so far. It was not three weeks since the time when she had first seen the young officer from the window — and yet she was already in correspondence with him, and he had succeeded in inducing her to grant him a nocturnal interview. She knew his name only through his having written it at the bottom of some of his letters; she had never spoken to him, had never heard his voice, and had never heard him spoken of until that evening. But, strange to say, that very evening at the ball, Tomsky, be- ing piqued with the young Princess Pauline N , who, contrary to her usual custom, did not flirt with him, wished to revenge himself by assuming an air of indifference: he therefore engaged Lizaveta Ivanovna, and danced an end- less mazurka with her. During the whole of the time he kept teasing her about her partiality for Engineer officers, he assured her that he knew far more than she imagined, and some of his jests were so happily aimed, that Lizaveta thought several times that her secret was known to him. " From whom have you learned all this ? " she asked, smiling. " From a friend of a person very well known to you," re- plied Tomsky, " from a very distinguished man." "And whom is this distinguished man?" " His name is Hermann." Lizaveta made no reply, but her hands and feet lost all sense of feeling. " This Hermann," continued Tomsky, " is a man of ro- mantic personality. He has the profile of a Napoleon, and the soul of a Mephistopheles. I believe that he has at least three crimes upon his conscience. How pale you have become 1 " " I have a headache. But what did this Hermann, or whatever his name is, tell you ? " " Hermann is very dissatisfied with his friend. He says that in his place he would act very differently. I even think that Hermann .^limself has designs upon you; at least, he 28 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin listens very, attentively to all that his friend has to say about " And where has he seen me ? " , . " In church, perhaps ; or on the parade. God alone knows where. It may have been in your room, while you were asleep, for there is nothing that he " i Three ladies approaching him with the question : " oubli 'j ou regret ? " interrupted the conversation, which had be- come so tantalizingiy ii^eresting to Lizaveta, , The lady chosen by Tomsky was the Princess Pauline herself. She succeeded in effecting a reconciliation with him during the numerous turns of the dance, after which he con- ducted her to her chair. On returning to his place, Tomsky thought no more either of Hermann or Lizaveta. She longed to renew the interrupted conversation, but the ma- zurka came to an end, and shortly afterwards the old Coun- tess took her departure. Tomsky's words were nothing more than the customary small talk of the dance, but they sank deep into the soul of the young dreamer. The portrait, sketched by Tomsky, coincided with the picture she had formed within her own mind, and, thanks to the latest romances, the ordinary countenance of her admirer became invested with attributes capable of alarming her and fascinating her imagination at the same time. She was now sitting with her bare arms crossed, and with her head, still adorned with flowers, sunk upon her uncovered bosom. Suddenly the door opened and Hermann entered. She shuddered. " Where were you ? " she asked in a terrified whisper. " In the old Countess's bedroom," replied Hermann. " I have just left her. The Countess is dead." " My God ! What do you say ? " " And I am afraid," added Hermann, " that I am the cause of her death." Lizaveta looked at hiin, and Tomsky's words found an echo in her soul : " This man has at least three crimes upon his conscience ! " Hermann sat down by the window near her, and related all that had happened. 29 Russian Mystery Stories • Lizaveta listened to him in terror. So all those passion- ate letters, those ardent desires, this bold, obstinate pur- suit — all this was not love! Money — ^that was what his soul yearned for! She could not satisfy his desire and make him happy. The poor girl had been nothing but the blind tool of a robber, of the murderer of her aged bene- factress! She wept bitter tears of agonized repentance. Hermann gazed at her in silence ; his heart, too, was a prey to violent emotion, but neither the tears of the poor girl, nor the wonderful charm of her beauty, enhanced by her grief, could produce any impression upon his hardened soul. He felt no pricking of conscience at the thought of the dead old woman. One thing only grieved him: the irrepa- rable loss of the secret from which he had expected to obtain great wealth. " You are a monster ! " said Lizaveta at last. "I did not wish for her death," replied Hermann, "my pistol was not loaded." Both remained silent. The day began to dawn. Lizaveta extinguished her candle, a pale light illumined her room. She wiped her tear-stained eyes, and raised them towards Hermann. He was sitting near the window, with his arms crossed, and with a fierce frown upon his forehead. In this attitude he bore a striking resemblance to the portrait of Napoleon. This resemblance struck Liza- veta even. " How shall I get you out of the house? " said she at last. " I thought of conducting you down the secret staircase." " I will go alone," he answered. Lizaveta arose, took from her drawer a key, handed it to Hermann, and gave him the necessary instructions. Her- mann pressed her cold, inert halnd, kissed her bowed head, and left the room. He descended the winding staircase, and once more en- tered the Countess's bedroom. The dead old lady sat as if pet^ifieid, her face expi'essed profound tranquillity. Her- mann stopped before her, and gazed long and earnestly at her, as if he wished to convince himself of the terrible re- ality. At last he entered the cabinet, felt behind the tapestry 30 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin for the door, and then began to descend the dark staircase, filled with strange emotions. " Down this very staircase," thought he, "perhaps coming from the very same room, and at this very same hour sixty years ago, there' may have glided, in an embroidered coat, with his hair dressed d I'oiseau royaly ,and pressing to his heart his three-cornered hat, some young gallant who has long been mouldering in the grave, but the heart of his aged mistress has only to- day ceased to beat." At the bottom of the staircase Hermann found a door, which he opened with a key, and then traversed a corridor which conducted him into the street. Three days after the fatal night, at nine o'clock in the morning, Hermann repaired to the Convent of , where the last honors were to be paid to the mortal remains of the old Countess. Although feeling no remoise, he could not altogether stifle the voice of conscience, which said to him : " You are the murderer of the old woman ! " In spite of his entertaining very little religious belief, he was exceed- ingly superstitious ; and believing that the dead Countess might exercise an evil influence on his life, he resolved to be present at her obsequies in order to implore her par- The church was full. It was with difficulty that Hermann made his way through the crowd of people. The coffin was placed upon a rich catafalque beneath a velvet bal- dachin. The deceased Countess lay within it, with her hands grossed upon her breast, with a, lace cap upon her head, and dressed in a white satin robe. Around the catafalque stood the members of her household; the servants in black caf- tans, with armorial ribbons upon their shoulders and can- dles in their hands ; the relatives— children,, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren — in deep mourning. Nobody wept, tears would have been an affectation. The 31 Russian Mystery Stories Countess was so old that her death could have surprised nobody, and her relatives had long looked upon her as being out of the world. A famous preacher delivered the funeral sermon. In simple and touching words he described the peaceful passing away of the righteous, who had passed long years in calm preparation for a Christian end. " The angel of death found her," said the orator," engaged in pious meditation and waiting for the midnight bridegroom." The service concluded amidst profound silence. The rela- tives went forward first to take a farewell of the corpse. Then followed the numerous guests, "who had come to render the last homage to her who for so many years had been a participator in their frivolous amusements. After these fol- lowed the members of the Countess's household. The last of these an old woman of the same age as the deceased. Two young women led her forward by the han(J. She had not strength enough ti> bow dowh to the gf bund — she merely siied a few tears, and kissed the cold hand of the mistress. Herman now resolved to approach the coffin. He knelt down upon the. cold stones, and remained in that position for some minutes; at last he arose as pale as the deceased Countess herself; he ascended the steps of the catafalque and bent over the corpse. . . . At that moment it seemed to him that the dead woman darted a mocking look at him and winked with one eye. Herinann started back, took a false step, and fell to the gfouttd^ Several persons hurried forward and. raised him up. At the same moment Lizaveta Ivanovna was bom^ ' fainting into the porch of the church. This episode distiirbed for some minutes the solemnity of the gloomy ceremony. Among the congregation arose a deep murmur, and a tall, thin chamberlain, a near relative of the deceased, whispered in the ear of an Englishrhan, who was standiug near him, that the young officer was a natural son 6f the Countess, to which the Englishman coldly re- plied "Oh!" During the whole of that day Hermann was strangely excited. Repairing *o an out of the way restaurant to din^; he drank a great deal of wine, contrary to his usual custom, 32 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin in the ho^i? of deadening his inward agitation. But the wine only served to excite his imagination still more. On returning home he threw himself upon his bed without un- dressing, and fell into a deep sleep. When he woke up it was already night, and the moon was shining into the room. He looked at his watch: it was a quarter to. three. Sleep had left him; he sat down upon his . bed, and thought of the funeral of the old Countess. At that moment somebody in the street looked in at his window and immediately passed on again, Hermann paid no attention to this incident, A few moments afterwards he heard, the door of his anteroom open. Hermann thought that it was his orderly, drunk as usual, returning from some nocturnal expedition, but presently he heard footsteps that were unknpwu to him: somebody was walking softly over the floor in slipper?. The door opened, and a woman dressed in white entered the room. Hermann mistook her for his old nurse, a^d wondered what could bring her there at that hour of tlje night. But the white woman glided rapidly across the. room and stood before him — ^and Hermann thought he re(:ognized the Countess. " I have come to you against my wish," she said in a firm voice, " but J., have been ordered to grant your request. Three, seven), ape, will wjn for you if played in succession, but only on these conditions: that you do not play more than one card in twenty-four-hours, and that you never play again during the rest of your life, I forgive you ray death, on condition that you marry my companion, Liza- veta Ivanovna." With these vvords she turned round very quietly, walked with a shuffling gait towards the door, and disappeared. Hermann- heard the street door open and shut, and again he saw someone look in at him through the window; For a long time Hermann could not recover himself. He then rose up aad entered the next room. His orderly was lying asleep upon the floor, and he had much difficulty in waking him. The orderly was drunk as usual, and no information could be obtained from him. The street door 33 knisstain Mystery Storie^ was locked. Hermann returned to his room, lit his candle, and wrote down all the details of his vision VI Two fixed ideas can no more exist together in the moral world than two bodies can occupy one and the same physical world. " Three, seven, ace " soon drove out of Hermann's mind the thought of the dead Countess. "Three, seven, ace " were perpetually running through his head, and con- tinually being repeated by his lips. If he saw a young girl, he would say : " How slender she is ; quite like the three of hearts." If anybody asked " What is the time? " he would reply : " Five minutes to seven." Every stout man that he saw reminded him of the ace. "Three, seven, ace" haunted him in his sleep, and assumed all possible shapes. The threes bloomed before him in the forms of magnificent flowers, the sevens were represented by Gothic portals, and the aces became transformed into gigantic spiders. One thought alone occupied his whole mind-^to make a profit- able use of the secret which he had purchased so dearly. He; thought of applying for a furlough so as to travel abroad. He wanted to go to Paris and tempt fortune in some gambling houses that abounded there. Chance spared himiall this trouble. . . > There was in Moscow a society of ridh gamesters, pre- sided over by the celebrated Chekalinsky, who had passed all his life at the card table, and had amassed millions, ac- cepting bills of exchange for his winnings, and paying his losses in ready money. His long experience secured for him the confidence of his companions, and his open house, his famous cook, and his agreeable and fascinatirtg manners, gained for him the respect of the public. He came to St. Petersburg. The young men of the capital flocked to his rooms, forgetting balls for cards, and preferring the emo- tions of iaro to the seductions of flirting. Narouinoff con- ducted Hermann to Chekalinsky's residence. 34 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin jThey passed through a suite of rooms, filled with at- tentive domestics. The place was crowded. Generals and Privy Counsellors were playing at whist, young men were lolling carelessly upon the velvet-covered sofas, eating ices and smoking pipes. In the drawing-room, at the head of a long table, around which were assembled about a score of players, sat the master of the house keeping the bank. He was a man of about sixty years of age, of a very dignified appearance ; his head was covered with silvery white hair ; his full, florid countenance expressed good-nature, and his eyes twinkled with a perpetual smile. Naroumofi intro- duced Hermann to him, Chekalinsky shook him by the hand in a friendly manner, requested him not to stand on ceremony, and then went on dealing. The game occupied some time. On the table lay more than thirty cards, Chekalinsky paused after each throw, in order to give the players time to arrange their cards and note down their losses, listened politely to their requests, and more politely still, straightened the corners of cards that some player's hand had chanced to bend. At last the game was finished. Chekalinsky shufHed the cards, and prepared to deal again. " Will you allow me to take a card? " said Hermann, stretching out his hand from behind a stout gentleman who was punting. Chekalinsky smiled and bowed silently, as a sign of ac- quiescence. Naroumoff laughingly congratulated Hermann on his abjuration of that abstention from cards which' he had practised for so long a period, and wished him a lucky beginning. ; ^ " Stake! "said Hermann, writing some figures with chalk on the back of his card. " How much ? " asked the banker, contracting the muscles of his eyes, ^' excuse me, I cannot see quite clearly." t" Forty-seven thousand roubles," replied Hermann. At these words every head in the room turned suddenly round, and all eyes were fixed upon Hermann. " He has taken leave of his senses ! " thought Naroumoff. 35 Russian Mystery Stories a> " Allow me to inform you," said Chekalinsky, with his eternal smile, "that you are playing very high ; nobody here has ever staked more than two hundred and seventy-five roubles at once." " Very well," replied Hermann, " but do you accept my pard or not?" Chekalinsky bowed in token of consent. " I only wish to observe," said he, " that although I have the greatest confidence in my friends, I can only play against ready money. For my own part I am quite convinced that your word is sufficient, but for the sake of the order of the game, and to facilitate the reckoning up, I must ask you to put the money on your card." Hermann drew from his pocket a bank-note, and handed it to Chekalinsky, who, after examining it in a cursory man- ner, placed it on Hermann's card. He began to deal. On the right a nine turned up, and on the left a three. " I have won ! " said Hermann, showing his card. A murmur of astonishment arose among the players. Chekalinsky frowned, but the smile quickly returned to his face. " Do you wish me to settle with you ? " he said to Hermann. " If you please," replied the latter. Chekalinsky drew from his. pocket a number of bank- notes and paid at once. Hermann took up his money and left the table. Naroumoff could not recover from his aston- ishment. Hermann drank a glass of lemonade and returned home. The next evening he again repaired to Chekalinsky's. The host was dealing. Hermann walked up to the table; the punters immediately made room for him. Chekalinsky greeted him with a gracious bow. Hermann waited for the next deal, took a card and placed upon it his forty-seven thousand roubles, together with his winnings of the previous evening. Chekalinsky began to deal. A knave turned up on the right, a seven on the left. 36 Alexander Sergeievitch Pushkin Hermann showed his seven. There was a general excl?imation. Chekalinsky was evi- dently ill at ease, but he counted out the ninety-four thousand roubles and handed them over to Hermann, who pocketed them in the coolest manner possible, and imme- diately ' left the house. The next evening Hermann appeared again at the table. Everyone was expecting himi The generals and privy coun- sellors left theit whist in order to watch such extraordinary play. The young officers quitted their sofas, and even the servants crowded into the room. All pressed round Her- mann. The other players left off punting, impatient to see how it would end. Hermann stood at the table, and pre- pared to play alone against the pale, but still smiling Chek- alinsky. Each opened a pack of cards. Chekalinsky shuf- fled. Hermann took a card and covered it with a pile of bank-notes. It was like a duel. Deep silence reigned around. Chekalinsky began to deal, his hands trembled. On the right a queen turned up, and on the left an ace. " Ace has won ! " cried Hermann, showing his card. " Your queen has lost," said Chekalinsky, politely. Hermann started ; instead of an ace, there lay before him the queen of spades! He could not believe his eyes, nor could he understand how he had made such a mistake. At that moment it seemed to him that the queen of spades smiled ironically, and winked her eye at him. He was struck by her remarkable resemblance. . . . " The old Countess ! " he exclaimed, seized with terror. Chekalinsky gathered up his winnings. For some time Hermann remained perfectly motionless. When at last he left the table, there was a general commotion in the room. " Splendidly punted ! " said the players, Chekalinsky shuffled the cards afresh, and the game went on as usual. Hermann went out of his mind, and is now confined in room number seventeen of the Oboukhoff Hospital. He never answers any questions, but he constantly mutters with Russian Mystery Stories • unusual rapidity : " Three, seven, ace ! Three, seven, queen ! " Lizaveta Ivanovna has married a very amiable young man, a son of the former steward of the old Countess. He is in the service of the State somewhere, and is in receipt of a good income. Lizaveta is also supporting a poor rela- tive. Tomsky has been promoted to the rank of captain, and has become the husband of the Princess Pauline. af Vera Jelihovsky The GeneraPs Will IT happened in winter, just before the holidays, Ivan Feodorovitch Lobnitchenko, the lawyer, whose office is in one of the main streets of St. Peterrburg, was called hurriedly to witness the last will and testament of one at the point of death. The sick man was not strictly a client of Ivan Feodorovitch ; under other circumstances, he might have refused to make this late call, after a day's heavy toil . . . but the dying man was an aristocrat and a million- aire, and such as he meet no refusals, whether in life, or, much more, at the moment of death. Lobnitchenko, taking a secretary and everything neces- sary, with a sigh scratched himself behind the ear, and thrusting aside the thought of the delightful evening at cards that awaited him, set out to go to the sick man. General luri Pavlovitch Nasimoff was far gone. Even the most compassionate doctors did not give him many days to live, when he finally decided to destroy the will which he had made long ago, not in St. Petersburg, but in the provincial city where he had played the Tsar for so many years. The general had come to the capital for a time, and had lain down — to rise no more. This was the opinion of the physicians, and of most of those about him; the sick man himself was unwilling to admit it. He was a stalwart-hearted and until recently a stalwart-bodied old man, tall, striking, with an energetic face, and a piercing, masterful glance, hard to forget, even if you saw him only once. He was lying on the sofa, in a richly furnished hotel 19 Russian Mystery Stories m suite, consisting of three of the best rooms. He received the lawyer gayly enough. He himself explained the circum- stances to him, though every now and then compelled to stop by a paroxysm of pain, with difficulty repressing the groans which almost escaped him, in spite of all his efforts. During these heavy moments, Ivan Feodorovitch raised his eyes buried in fat to the sick man's face, and his plump little features were convulsed in sympathy with the sufferer's pain. As soon as the courageous old man, fighting hard with the paroxysms of pain, had got the better of them, taking his hands from his contorted face, and drawing 'a painful breath, he began anew to explain his will. Lobnit- chenko dropped his eyes again and became all attention. The general explained in detail to the lawyer. He had been married twice, and had three children, a son and a daughter from his first marriage, who had long ago reached adultship, and a nine-year-old daughtO' from his second marriage. His second wife and daughter he expected every day; they were abroad, but would soon return. His elder daughter would also probably come. The lawyer was not acquainted with Naziinoff's family; indeed he had never before seen the general, though, like all Russia, he knew of him by repute. But judging from the tone of contempt or of pity with which he spoke of his second wife or her daughter, the lawyer guessed at once that the general's home life was not happy. The further explanations of the sick man convinced him of this. A new will was to be drawn up, directly contrary to the will I signed six years before, which bequeathed to his second wife, Olga Vseslavovna, unlimited authority over their little daughter, and her husband's entire property. In the first will he had left nearly everything, with the exception of the family estate, which he did not feel justified in taking from his son, to his second wife and her daUgther. Now he wished to restore to his elder children the rights which he had deprived them of, and especially to his eldest daughter, Anna lurievna Borissova, who was not even mentioned in the first will. In the new will, with the exception of the 40 ' Vera Jelihovsky seventh part, the widow's share, he divided the whole of his land and capital between his children equally ; and he further appointed a strict guardianship over the property of his little daughter, Olga lurievna. The will was duly arranged, drawn up and witnessed, and after the three witnesses had signed it, it was left, by the general's wish, in his own keeping. " I will send it to you to take care of," he said to the lawyer. " It will be safer in your hands than here, in my temporary quarters. But first I wish to read it to my wife, and ... to my eldest daughter ... if she arrives in time." The lawyer and the priest, who was one of the witnesses, were already preparing to take leave of the general, when voices and steps were heard in the corridor; a footman's head appeared through the door, calling the doctor hur- riedly forth. It appeared that the general's lady had arrived suddenly, without letting anyone know by telegram that she was coming. The doctor hastily slipped out of the room; he feared the result of emotion on the sick man, and wished to warn the general's wife of his grave danger, but the sick man noticed the move, and it was impossible to guard him against dis- turbance. "What is going on there?" he asked. "What are you mumbling about, Edouard Vicentevitch ? Tell me what is the matter ? Is it my daughter ? " " Your excellency, I beg of you to take care of yourself ! " the doctor was beginning, evidently quite familiar with the general's family aifairs, and therefore dreading the meeting of husband and wife. " It is not Anna lurievna. . . ." " Aha ! " the sick man interrupted him ; " she has come ? i Very well. Let her come in. Only the little one . . . I don't wish her to come . . . to-day." Suffering was visible in his eyes, this time not bodily suffering. The door opened, with the rustling of a silk dress. A tall, welWeveloped, and decidedly handsome woman ap- 41 Russian Mystery Stories ^ peared on the threshhold. She glanced at the pain-stricken face, which smiled contemptuously toward her. In a moment she was beside the general, kneeling beside him on the carpet, bending close to him, and pressing his hjaid, as she repeated in a despairing whisper: "Oh, Georges! Georges! Is it really you, my poor ■friend?" It would be hard to define the expression of rapidly changing emotions which passed over the sick man's face, which made his breast heave, and his great heart quiver and tremble painfully. Displeasure and pity, sympathy and contempt, anger and grief, all were expressed in the short; sharp, bitter laugh, and the few words which escaped his lips when he saw his little daughter timidly following her mother into his room. " Do not teach her to lie ! " and he nodded toward the child, and turned toward the wall, with an expression of pain and pity on his face. The lawyer and the priest hast- ened to take their leave and disappear. " Ah ! Sinners ! sinners ! " muttered the latter, as he descended the stairs. "Things are not in good shape between thein?" asked Lobnitchenko. " They don't get on well together ? " " How should they be in good shape, when he came here to get a divorce?" whispered the priest j shaping his fur cap. " But God decided otherwise.. iEven without a divorce, he will be separated forever from his wife ! " " I don't believe he is so very far gone. He is a stalwart old man. Perhaps he will pull through," went on the man of law. " God's hand is over all," answered the priest, shrugging his shoulders. And so they went their different ways. II " Olga ! " cried the sick man, without turning round, and feeling near him the swift movement of his wife, he pushed 42 Vera Jelihovsky her away with an impatient movement of his h^nd, and added," Not you! my daughter Olga! " " Olga ! Go, my child, papa is calling you," cried the general's wife in a soft voice, in French, to the little girl, whb was standing undecidedly in the center of the room. " Can you not drop your foreign phrases ? '' angrily in- terrupted the general. "■ This is not a drawing-room 1 You might drop it; from a Setise of decency." His voice became shrill, and made the child shudder and begin to cry. She went to him timidly. The genera;! looked at her with an expression of pain. He drew her toward him with his left hand, raising the right to bless her. . ' ' " In the name of the - Father, the Son, iand the Holy Spirit! " he whispered, making the Sign of the ci-oss over her. " God guard you frdm evil, from every bad influence. . . . Btekind' . . . honest . . '. most of all, be honest t Never tell lies. God guard you from falsehood, from lytngv even more than from sorrow ! " Tears filled the dying man's eyes. Little Olga shuddered from head to foot; she feared her father, and at the same time was. so sorry for him. But pity got the upper hand. She clung to him, wetting him with her tears. Her father raised his hand, wishing to make the sigh of the cross once more over the little head which lay on his breast, but could not; complete the gesture. His hand fell heavily, his face was once more contorted. with pain; he turned to those who stood near him, evidently avoiding meeting his wife's eyes, and whispered:' - . : < " Take her away.' It is enough. Christ be with her! " And for a moment he fcoUected strength to place his haftd on the child's head. ' The doctor took the little girl by the hand, but hei' mother moved quickly toward her. '.<"'■■ •' Kiss him ! Kiss papa's hand ! " she whispered; "bid him good-by !'" Thegeneral'swffe sobbed, and covered'her face "With her handkerchief, with the grand gesture of a stage queen. The 43 Russian Mystery 'Stories • sick man did not see this. At the sound of her voice he frowned and closed his eyes tight, evidently trying, not to listen. The doctor-led the little girl away to another room and gave her to her. governess.; When he came back to the sick man, the general, lying on the sofa, still, in the same position, lAnd without looking ,?i|:.his wife who stood beside. his pillow, said to her: " I expect my poor daughter Anna, who has suffered so much injustice through you. . . . I have asked her to forgive me. I shall pray her to be a mother to her little sister . . ,. I have appointed her the child's guardian. She is good and honest . . , she will teach the child no evil. And this will be best for you also. Yoti are pro- vided for. You will find out from the new will. You could not, have had aoy profit from being her guardian. If Aijna does not consent to take little jOlga: to live with her, and. to educate her with her own children, as I have asked her, Olga will be sent to a school. You will prCfei' liberty to your daughter; it. will be pleasanter for you. Is it not ■so?" ,'•■ .,,.■'.-, Contempt and bitter ifony were perceptible in his voice. His wife did not .titter a syllable. She remained so quiet that it might have been thought she did not even hear him, but for the convulsive movement of her lips, and of the fingers of her tightly clasped hands. The doctor once more made a movement to withdraw discreetly, but the general's voice stopped him. " Edouard Vicenteyitch ? Is, he here ? " " I am here, your excellency," answered the doctor, bend- ing over the sick man. " Would not your excellency prefer to be carried to the bed? It will be more comfortable lying down." "More comfortable to ; die ?" sharply interrupted the general. "Why do you drivel?. You know I detest beds and blankets. , Drop it! Here, take this," and he gave him a sheet of crested paper folded in four, which was lying beside him. " Read it, please. Aloud ! so that she may know." 44 Vera Jelihovsky He turned his eyes toward his wifet The doctoi unwill- ingly began his unpleasant task. Hei was a man of fine: feeling, and although he had no very high opinion of the general's wife, still she was a woman. And a beautiful woman. He would have preferred that she; should learn from someone else how niany of the pleasures of life Were slipping away from her, in virtue of the new will. But there was nothing for it but to do as he was ordered. It was always hard to oppose luri Pavlovitch; now it was quite impossible. ^ -:•,;■ ii-ij-.! -L ; -i > Olga Vseslavovna listened to the reading of the will with, complete composure. She sat motionless, leaning back in an armchair, with downcast eyes, and, only showing her emotion when her husband was no longer able to stifle a groan. 'Then- she turned toward him her pale, beautiful; face, with evident signs of heartfelt sympathy, and was even rising to come to his assistance. The sick man ;iinpatiently reiUsbd her services, significantly turning bis. eyes toward, the doctor, who was reading his last will' ahd testament, as though he would say : " Listen ! Listen ! It concerns you." It did concern her, without a doubt Geniral Nazimoff's •wife learned that, in^gtead of an income of a hundred thou- sand a year, which she had had a right to expect, she could count only ori a sum sufficient to keep her from poverty; what in her opinion was a mere pittance. The doctor finished reading, coughing to hide his con- fusion, and slowly folded the document. "You have heard ?" asked the 'general, in a faint, con- vulsive voice. ' -''■■' ■'.-■'• .■':■:'■ -' ■ ■■ ',■ " I have heard, my friend," quietly answered his wife. : " You have ftothing to say ? " -J. ; . ' " What can I say? You have a right to dispose of what belongs to you. . . . But . . .^ still' I . . ." ■ " Still you what? " sharply asked her husband. " Still', f hope, my friend, that this, is not your last will. ..." - General Nazimoff turned, and even made an effort to raise himself on his elbow. Russian Mystery Stories 4» " God willing, you will recover. Perhaps you will decide more than once to make other dispositions of your prop- erty," calmly continued his wife. The sick man fell back on the pillows. " You are mistaken. Even if I do not die, you will not be able to deceive me again. This is my last will ! " he replied convulsively- I And with trembling hand he gave the doctor a bunch of keys. " There is the dispatch box. Please open it, and put the will in." The doctor obeyed his wish, without looking at Olga Vseslavovna. She, on her part, did not look at him. Shrugging her shoulders at her husband's last words, she remained motionless, noticing nothing except his sufferings. His sufferings, it seemed, tortured her. Meanwhile the dying man followed the doctor with anxious eyes, and as soon as the latter closed the large traveling dispatch box he stretched out his hand to him for the keys. " So long as I am alive, I will keep them ! " he murmured, putting the bunch of keys away in his pocket. " And when I am dead, I intrust them to you, Edouard Vicentevitch. Take care of them, as a last service to me ! " And he turned his face once more to the wall. " And now, leave me alone ! The pain is less. Perhaps I shall go to sleep. Leave me ! " " My friend 1 Permit me to remain near you," the general's wife began, bending tenderly over her hus- band. "Go!" he cried sharply. "Leave me in peace, I tell you!" She rose, trembling. The doctor hastily offered her his arm. She left the room, leaning heavily on him, and once more covering her face with her handkerchief, in tragic style. " Be calm, your excellency 1 " whispered the doctor sym- pathetically, only half conscious of what he was saying. 46 Vera Jelihovsky " These rooms have been prepared for you. You also need to rest, after such a long journey." "Oh, I am not thinking about myself. I am so sorry for him. Poor, poor, senseless creature. How much I have suffered at his hands. He was always so suspicious, so hard to get on with. And whims and fantasies without end. You know, doctor, I have sometimes even thought he was not in full possession of his faculties." " Hm ! " murmured the dpetor, coughing in confusion. " Take this strange change of his will, for instance," the general's wife continued, not waiting for a clearer expres- sion of sympathy. , " Take his manner toward me. And for what reason ? " " Yes, it is very sad," murmured the doctor. " Tell roe, doctor, does he e?cpect his son and daughter ? " " Only his daughter, Anna lurievua. She promised to come, with her oldest children. A telegram came yester- day. We have been expecting her all day/' "What is the cause of this sudden tenderness? They have, not seen each other for ten years. Does he expect her husband, too ? His son-in-law, the pedagogue ? " contempt- uously asked the general's wife, "No! How could he come? ^ He could not leave his service. And his son, too, Peter lurevitch, he cannot come at once. He is on duty, in Transcaspia. It is a long way." "Yes, it ii a long way!" assented the general's wife, evidently busy with other thoughts. " But tell me, Edouard Vicentevitch, this new will, has it been written long ? " " It was drp^n up only to-day. The draft was prepared last week, but the general kept putting it off. But when his pains began this morning. ..." "Is it thg end?, Is.it dangerous?" interrupted Olga Vseslavovna. " Very — a very bad sign. When they begat?, luri Pav- lovitch sent at once for the lawyer. He was still here when you arrived." ; f- Yes. ; Apd the old will, which he made before, has been destroyed?" Russicin Mystery Stories • " I do not know for certain. But I think not. Oh, no, I forgot. The general was going to send a telegratn." " Yes ? to send a telegram ? " The general's wife shrugged her shoulders, sadly shook her head, and added : " He is so changeable ! so changeable ! But I think it is all the same. Accordingto law, only the last Will is valid ? " " Yes, without doubt ; the' last." The general's wifje bowed her head. "What' hurts me most," she whispered, with a titter smile, bending^ close to the youhg doctor, and leaning heavily on his arm, " what hurts me most, is riot the money. I am not avaricious. But why should he take my child away from me ? Why should he pass over her own mother, and intrust her to her half-sister? A woman whom I do not know, who has not distinguished herself by any ser'vaces or good actions, so far as I knoyir. I shall not submit. I shall contest the Will'. The law must support the right of the mother. What do you think, doctor?" The doctor hastily assented, though, to tell the truth, he was not thinking of anything at the moment, except the strange manner in which the general's wife, while talking, pressed cIo*e to her companion. At that moriient a bell rang, and the general's loud voice was heard: . "Doctor! Edouard Vicenteyitch ! " " Coming ! " ariswet-ed the doctor. And leaving Olga Vseslavovna at the threshold of her room, he ran quickly to the sick man. "A vigorous voice — for a dying man! He shouts as he used to at the manoeuvers!" thought the general's wife. And her handsonje face at once grew dark with the hate which stole over it; This was only a passing expression, however; it rapjldly gave place to sorrow, when she saw the manservant coming from the sick man. "What is the matter with your master, Yakov? Is he worse ? " " No, madam. ' God has been gradous. He told me to 48 ^ • Vera Jelihovsky push the box nearer him, and ordered Edouard Vicentevitch to open it. He wants to send some telegram or other." *' Thank God, he is not worse. Yakov, I am going to send a telegram to the station myself, in a few miniites, by my coachman. You can give him the general's telegram, too." " Very well, madam." " And another thing. I shall not go to bed.^ If there is any change in your master's condition, Yakov, come and knock at my door at once. I beg of you, tell me the very moment anything happens. Here is something for you, Yakov ; — you have grown thin, waiting upon your master ! " " I thank you most humbly, your excellency. We must not grudge our exertions," the man answered, putting a note of considerable value in his pocket. HI Contrary to expectation, the night passed quietly enough. Emotion and weariness claimed their own; Olga Vsesla- vovna, in spite of all her efforts, fell into a sleep toward morning; and when she awoke, she started in dismay, noticing that the sun had already climbed high in the sky, and was pouring into her room. Her maid, a deft Viennese, who had remained with this accommodating mistress for five years, quieted her by telling her that the master was better, that he was still asleep, not having slept for the greater part of the night. "The doctor and Yakov were busy with him most of the night," she explained. " They were sorting all sorts of papers; some of them they tied up, writing something on them ; others they tore up, or threw into the fire. The grate is full of ashes. Yakov told me." " And; there were no more telegrams ? " "No, madam, there were no more. Yakov and our Friedfich Would have let me know at once ; I was there in the anteroom; they both kept coming through on errands. 49 Russian Mystery Stories m But there were no more telegratus, except the two that were sent last night." Olga Vseslavovna dressed, breakfasted^ and went to her hiisband. But at the threshold of his room she was stopped by the direction of the sick man to admit no one without special permission except the doctor, or his eldest daughter, if she should come. " Tell Edouard Vicentevitch to come out to me," ordered the general's wife. The doctor was called, and in great confusion confirmed the general's orders. " But perhaps he did not think that such an order could apply to me ? " she said, astonished. The doctor apologized, but had to admit that it was she who was intended, and that his excellency had sent word to her excellency thatshe should not give 'herself the trouble of visiting him. " He is out of his mind," declared the general's wife quietly, but with conviction, shrugging her shoulders. " Why should he hate me so — for all my love to him, an old man, who might have been my father ? ". And Olga Vseslavovna once more took refuge in her pocket handkerchief, this time, instead: of tears, giving vent to sobs of vexation. The doctor, always shy in the presence of women, stood with hanging head and downcast eyes, as though he were to blame. " What is it they are saying about you burning papers all night ? " Olga Vseslavovna asked, in a weak voice. "Oh, not nearly all night. luri- Pavlovitch remembered that he ought to destroy some old letters and papers. There were some to be put in order. There, in the box, there is a packet addressed to your excellency. I was told to write the address." " Indeed! Could I not see it?" " Oh no, on no account. They are all locked up in the box along with the last will. And the general has the keys." A bitter smile of humiliation played about the young woman's lips. i , 50 Vera Jelihovshy "So the new will has not been burned yet?" she asked. And to the startled negative of the doctor, who repeated that " it was lying on the top of the papers in the box," she added: . , . " Well, it will be burned yet. Do not fear. Especially if God in His mercy prolongs my .husband's life. You see, he has always had a mysterious passion for writing new documents, powers of attorney,' deeds of gift, wills, what- ever comes into his mind. He writes new ones, and burns the old ones. Biat what, can you do? We must submit to each new fancy. We cannot contradict a sick man." piga yseslavovna \yentback to her room. She only left her be,droom for a few minutes that day, to hear the final word of. the. lights of the medical profession, who had come together for a general consultation, in. the afternoon; all the rest of the day she shut herself up. ,The QOiiclusions of, the physicians, though they diifered completely in detail, were sijmilaf.in the ijiain, and far from comforting; the life and continued. sufferirig of the sick man could not last more than a (few days-i , , In the; evening a telegram came from Anna lurievna; she informed her father that she would be with him on the fol- lowing day, at five in the afternoon. , ; 'f Shall I, be able to hold out? Shall I last so long?" sighed the gick man, all day long. And the more he was disturbed in mind, the more threatening were his attacks of pain. He passed a bad night.. Toward morning a violent attack, much worse than any that had gone before, almost carried him away. He could hardly breathe, owing to the sharp suffering. Hot baths for his hands and steam inhala- tions no longer had any beneficial effect, though they had alleviated his, pain hitherto. The doctor, the Sister of Mercy, and the servant wore themselves out. But still,, as before, his wife alone was not adrnitted to him. She raged with anger, trying, and not without success, to ponvince everyone that she was going mad' with despair. Little .Qlga had been.taken away on the prfvioug day by a f;-iend of the general's, to stay there 51 Russian Mystery Stories " during this terrible time." That night Madame Nazimoif did not go to bed at all; and, as befitted a devoted wife, did not quit her husband's door. When the violent attack jUst before dawn quieted down, she rnade an attempt to go in to him; but no sooner did the sick man see her' at the head of his couch, on which he had at last been persuaded to lie, than strong displeasure was expressed in his face, and, no longer able to speak, he made an angry motion of his hand toward her, and groaned heavily; The Sister of Mercy with great firmness asked the general's wife not to trouble the sick man with her presence. "And I am to put up with" this. I am to submit to all this?" thought Olga Vseslavovna, writhing with wrath. " To endure all this frorri him, and after his death to suffer beggary? No, a thousand times no! Better death than penury and such insults." And she fell into gloomy thought. That gesture of displeasure at the sight of his wife was the last conscious act of luri Pavlovitch Nazimoff. At eight in the morning he lost consciousness, in the midst of violent suffering, which lasted until the end. By the eariy afternoon he was no more. During the last hour of his agony his wife knelt beside his couch without let or hindrance, and wept inconsolably. The formidable aristocrat and millionaire was dead. Everything went on along the usual lines. The custom- ary stir and unceremonious bustle, instead of cautious whis- pering, rose around the dead body, in preparation for a fashionable funeral. No near relatives were present except his wife, and she was confined to her room, half-fainting, half-hysterical. All responsibility fell on the humble doctor, and he busied himself indefatigably, conscientiously, in the sweat of his brow, making every effort to omit nothing. But, as always happens, he omitted the most important thing of all. The early twilight was already descending on St. Petersburg, shrouded in chilly mist, when Edouard Vicentevitch Polesski struck his brow in despair; he had suddenly remembered the keys and the box, committed to 52. - . Vera, Jelihovsky v his care, by the dying man. At that monjgnt, the hody, dressed in iiill, uniform, with all his regalia, was lying in the great, darkened room on a jta,ble, covered with brocade, awaitipg the coffin, atid the customary wreaths. The doctor rushed into the empty . bedroom, Everything in it was already in order; the bed stood there, without mattress, or pillows, , There was nothing; on the dressing table, either. Where were the keys? Wherp -was the box? The box was standing as befpre;,^ untouched, locked. His heart at once felt lighter. But j:he, keys? No doubt tJie police would come in a few niijjutps, j It was astonishing that they had not come already. They would seal everything. Ever3rthing must be; in order^, Where was Yakov? ,Prob- ably he had taken them.j. Or ,. . . the, general's wife? Polftsski rushed to look, for the manservant, but could not find him. There was. so, much to do; he had gone to buy something, to order sopjethiog. " Oh ;tord ! And the an- nouncement?" he suddenly remembered. It must be writ- ten at once, and sent to the newspapers, , He must ask the general's wife, however, what words he should use. However much, he, might wish to avoid her,, still she was now the most important person. And he could ask at the same time whether, shp had seen the keys. , ■ , The doctor went to the, rooms of the general's, wife. She was lying down, suffering severely, hut she came out to him. " What words was he to use? It was all the same to her. 'With deep regret,' ''\srith ^heartfelt sorrow,' what did she care ? The keys ? What keys ? No ! she -had not seen any keys, and did not know, where they were. But why should he be disturbed about them? Thp servants were trust- worthy ; nothing would go astray." : " Yes, but we must have them ready for the, police. They yvill come in a few minutes, to seal up the dead , man'g papers! " , ; : ■ . ' "To seal up the papers? Why?" " That js the law. So that everjrthing should be intact, utitil after the last w,ill and testament of the deceased has been read, according to his wishes." S3 Russian Mystery Stones General Nazimoff's wife paled perceptibly. She knew nothing of such an obstacle, and had not expected it. The doctor was too busy to notice her pallor. " Very well ; I shall write the announcement at once, and send it to the newspapers. I suppose ' Novoe Vremya ' and ' Novosti ' will be enough ? " "Do as you think best. Write it here, in my room. Here is everything you require; pens, paper. Write, and then read it to me. I shall be back in a moment. I want to put a bandage round my head. It aches so. Wait for me here." And the general's wife went from the sitting- room to her bedroom. " Rita ! " she whispered to her faithfu' maid, who was hurriedly sewing a mourning gown of crape for her. " Do not let the doctor go till I return. Do you understand? Do what you please, but do not let him go." The general's wife slipped from the bedroom into the passage through a small side door, and disappeared. The two rooms between hers and the chamber where the dead man lay were quite empty and nearly dark ; there were no candles in them. From the chamber came the feeble glimmer of the tiny lamps burning before the icons.* The tapers were not lit yet, as the deacon had not yet arrived. He was to come at the same time as the priest and the coffin. For the moment there was no one near the dead man ; in the anteroom sat the Sister of Mercy. "You wish to pray?" she asked the general's wife. " Yes, I shall pray there, in his room." ' She slipped past the dead body without looking at it, to the room that had been the general's bedroom, and closed the door behind her. She was afraid to lock it, and after all, was it necessary ? It would only take a moment. There it is, the box! She knows it of old! And she knows its key of old, too ; it is not so long since her husband had no secrets from her. The key was quickly slipped into the lock, and the lid Jose quickly. The paper? That new, detestable paper, * Sacred images. ?,4. Vera Jelihovsky which might deprive her of everything. Ah ! there it is! To close the lid quickly, and turn the key in the lock ; to hide the keys somewhere; here, between the seat and the back of the sofa, on which he lay. That's it! A sigh of relief from fear escaped the beautiful lips of the handsome woman, lips which were pale through those terrible days. She could feel secure at last I She must look at the document, the proof of his cruelty, his injustice, his stupidity! She must make sure that there was no mistake! Olga Vseslavovna went up to the win- dow, and taking advantage of the last ray of the gray day, unfolded the will. " In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit ! " she read. Yes, that is it, the will. "How he pronounced those same words, when he was blessing little Olga," she remembered. " Blessing her ! And his hand did not tremble, when he signed this. To deprive her, to deprive them both, of everything, all on account of those hated people? But now — it should never be! On no account! Your down-at-the-heel pedagogue shall not strut about in peacock's feathers! Olga and I . . . require the money more!" And the general's wife was tempted to snap her fingers in triumph in the direction of the dead man. Suddenly, quite close to the door, the sound of steps was heard. Good heavens! And she held the big sheet of crested paper in her hand! Where could she put it? She had no time to think of folding it up. There ! they are coming in already ! Who can it be ? And the will lay on the floor, the general's wife kneeling on it, as on a prayer carpet, in an attitude of prayer, her clasped hands on the window sill, her wet eyes fixed on a faintly twinkling star, as though calling heaven to witness her inconsolable grief and bereavement. It was only the Sister of Mercy. " Madam, the people have come, bringing the coffin; and I think the police have also come." 55 Russim Mystery Stories "YeSi in' a m^riieHt.: Tell them I am coniirig iriime- diateiy." r The Sister of Miercy went out. "> See how sht! loved her husband. And why was he so unjust to het at the last? " she involuntarily reproached the dead general. ' ;, Meartwhile the general's wife had risen hastily, folded the will as best she could, in four, in eight folds, and crush- ing it together in her hand, went quietly from the room, which now filled her with dread. She was socoHifused that she did not even think oi look- ing for her pocket; she simply held her packet tight, and let her hand hang down, hiding it in the folds of her Wide dressing-gown. There seemed to be so 'many, people in the room which a moment before, ivas empty, that she felt cowed. Her heart beat pitilessly, and the blood throbbed so violently in her temples that she could not under- stand what was said to her. They were asking her if they might place the body in the coffin, which had already been placed beside it. Her silence was taken as consent. The skilful undertakers, easily lifted, the already rigid body. , '. Olga Vseslavovna stood at the head of the dead general.. Among the crowd of .'undertakers and servants, she suddenly saw coming toward her, with outstretched hand, and with tears of compassion in her eyes, the Princess Ryadski, the same aristocfatic kinswoman 'who had already taken, little Olga to 'stay; with her. : " I must shake hands with- her! And that horrible packet is in my hand! 'Where shall I put it? How can I hide it ? " Before her eyes gleamed the brilliantly lighted, ashen forehead of the 'dead man, helplessly bent backward and sideways, as the whole body was suspended in the hands of the. undertakers, over its last abode. A saving thought I ' The general's wife bent gently over the dead body. She gently .supported fhe head of the torpse, gently laid it on the satin cushion, straightened the frills which surrounded 56 Vera Jelihovsky the hard pUlpvf, and, unperceived, left under it the twisted ;roll -pf, paper. .:.; ,, ; , "It will be ,safpr there ! " .,The, thought flashed through her mind. " He wanted to keep his will himself; well, keep it to eternity, now ! .What more can you ask ? " And it even, seemed ludicrous .to her. She could hardly restrain a smile of triumph, changing it .into a sad smile of grief, in reply to her kinswoman's condolences. The coffin was already lying in state on the bier; it was covered with brocade and flowers. The princess, as kinswoman of the late general, bent low, and first laid on the dead body the wreath she had brought with her. " The poor sufferer has, ,entere;d into rest," she whispered, shaking her head; ; " Will the funeral service be soon ? -Where will it be? ; Whe,r,e is Olga Vseslavovna?" ,, "She will be heri^ in a moment," the Sister of Mercy ,whisiiered, deeply effected; "she has gone to fix. hCTself. They will begin the funfral service in a few minutes, and she is all in disorder. She is in great grief. Will you not take a seat?" , t " What? Sit down? Thank you," loftily replied the prin- cess. Afld she went toward a dignified personage who was entering; adorned with many orders and an aristocratic beard. The general's wife soon came to herself, v " Rita ! I must wash and dress as quickly as possible. Ah t pray forgive me, doctor ! They called , me away to my husband. They were placing him in the coflSn." She sighed deeply. " What is this ? Oh, yes, the announcement of his death. Very good. Send ;it, please. But; I must dress at once. The funeral service will begin , immediately." "Doctor! Is the doctor here?" an anxious voice souncled in the corridor. " I am coming! What is it? " " Please come quick, Edouard Vicentevitch 1 " Yakov called him. " The lady is very ill downstairs ; Anna luri- evna, the general's daughter 1 I was out to order, the flowers ; I come back, and see the lady lying in a faint in 57 Russian Mystery Stories # the entrance. She had just arrived, and asked; and they answered her that he was dead, without the slightest preparation! And she could not bear it, and fainted." Yakov said all this as they went. " Actress ! " angrily thought Olga Vseslavovna. And immediately she added mentally, " Wellj she may stand on her head now, it is all the same to me ! " IV Whether it was all the same to her or not,' the deep despair of the daughter, who had not been in time to bid her father farewell, had not been in time to receive his blessing, after many years of anger, which had borne heavily on the head of thfe' blaiheless young woman, was so evidently sincere, and produce'd such a deep impression on everyone, that her stepmother also was moved. Anna lurievna resembled her father, as much as a young, graceful, pretty woman can resemble an elderly man with strongly-marked features and athletic frame, such as was General Nazimoff. But in spite 6i Ihe delicacy of her form, and the gentleness of her eyes, her glance sometimes flashed fire in a manner Very like the flashing eyeS of her father, and in -her strong will, firm character, and inflexiblfe adhereflce to what she believed to be necessary and righi, Anna was exactly like her father. For nearly ten years his daiighter had obedieritly borne his anger; from the day of her hlarriage to the man she loved, whom evil-minded people had succeeded in calum- niating in the general's mifid. ,Though writing incessantly to him, begging him to pardon her, to understand that he had made a mistake, that ^er husband was a man of honor, and that she would be fully and perfectly happy, but for the ibiirden of her father's wrath, and of th6 separatiori from him,"* she had never tintil the last few weeks received a reply froni him. But. quite recently something mysterious had 58 Vera Jelihovsky happened. Not only had her father written to her that he wished to see her and her children in St. Petersburg, whither he was just setting out, but a few days later he had written again, a long, tender letter, in which he had asked her forgiveness. Without giving any explanations, he said that he had received indubitable proofs of the innocence and chivalrous honor of her husband; that he felt himself deeply guilty toward him, and was miserable on account of the injustice he had committed. In the following letters, praying his daughter to hasten her coming, because he was dangerously ill, and the doctors thought could not last long, he filled her with astonishment by expressing his intention to make a new will, and his determination to separate his youngest daughter " from such a mother," and by his prayers to her and her husband not to refuse to take upon themselves little Olga's education. " What had happened ? How could that light-minded woman have so deeply wounded my father?" Anna asked in bewilderment. " If she was merely light-minded I " her husband an- swered, shrugging his shoulders. " But she is so malicious, so crafty, and so daring that anything may be expected from her." " But in that case there would be an open scandal. We would know something for certain. Nowadays they even relate such stories in the newspapers, and my father is so well known, so noteworthy ! " " That is just why they don't write about him ! " answered Borisofif, her husband, smiling. He himself flatly refused to go to St. Petersburg. With horror he remembered the first year of his marriage, before he had succeeded in ob- taining a transfer to another city, and was compelled to meet the woman he detested ; compelled also to meet his father-in-law, a wise and honorable old man, who had fallen so completely into the toils of this crafty woman. Anna lurievna knew that her husband despised her stepmother; that he detested her as the cause of all the grief which they had had to endure through her, and most of all, on account 59 Russian Mystery Stories _ o| the injustice she was guilty of toward her brother, the general's son. For six years BorisofF had lived v^ith. young Peter Nazimoffy as his tutor and teacher, and loved him sincerely. The boy had already reached the highest class at school, when his sister, two years older than he, finished her school- ing, and returned to her father's house, about the time of the general's second marriage. What the young tutor tried not to notice and to endure, for love of his pupil, in the first year of the general's second marriage, became intolerable when the general's daughter returned home, and to all the burden of his difficult position was added the knowledge of their mutual love. He proceeded frankly, and the whole matter was soon settled. But the young man had never uttered a syllable as to the cause of Madame Nazimoff's hatred for him. For the sake of his father-in-law's peace of mind, he sincerely hoped that he would never know. Anna was convinced that the whole cause of her step- mother's hostility was her prejudice against what was in her opinion a mesalliance. In part she was right, but the chief reason of this hostility remained .forever a secret to her. Unfortunately, it was not Equally a secret to her father. Of late years he had gradually been losing faith in his second wife's character. It went so far that the general felt much more at ease when she was away. Before the last illness of luri Pavlovitch, which, to tell the truth, was almost his first, Olga Vseslavovna had gone abroad with her daughter, intending to travel for a year; but she had hardly been gone two months when the general unexpectedly determined to go to St. Petersburg to seek a divorce, to see his elder daughter, and change his will. Perhaps he would never h^ve determined on such decisive measures had not something wholly iinexpected taken place. Borisof? was quite mistaken in thinking that he had so carefully destroyed all the letters which the general's young wife had written to him, before his marriage to Anna, that no material evidence of Olga Vseslavovna's early design of 60 Vera Jelihovsky ; treachery remained.. Even before she married the general, she had h^d a confidential servant, who carried out many commissions for the ibeaatiful young woman, whose fame had gone abroa,d through the three districts atong the Volga, the arena of her early triumphs.. Later, the young lady found a new favorite in foreign lands — ^the same Rita who was still with her. Martha, the Russian coniidential servant, heartily detested the German girl, and such strife arose between them that not only the general's wife, but even the. general himsplf, was deprived of peace and tran- quillity. Martha was no fool; Olga Vseslavovna had to be careful with her; she did take care, but she herself did not know to what an extent she was in the woman's power. Foreseeing a black day of ingratitude, Martha, with, won- derful forethought, had. put on one side one or two letters from each series of her mistress' secret correspondence, which always passed through her hands. Perhaps she ywould not have made such a bad use of them but for her mistress' last, intolerable insult. Prizing in her servants, next to swift obedience, a knowledge of languages, her mistress did not make use of her when traveling abroad; but hitherto she had taken both servants with her- But on her last journey she was so heartily tired of Martha, and her perpetual tears and quarrels, that she determined to get on without her,, the more so that her daughter's governess was als& traveling with her. Her company was growing too numerous. ,; ,; : . There was no limit to Martha's wrath when she learned that she was going to: be left behind. Her effrontery was so great that she advised her mistress " for her own sake " not to put such an affront upon her, since she would not submit to it without seeking revenge. But her mistress never dreamed of what Martha, was planning, and, what a risk she ran. Hardly had the general's wife departed when Martha asked the general to let her leave, saying she would find work elsewhere* The general saw no way of keeping her ; and he did not even wish to do so, thinking her only a 6i Russian Mystery Stories • quarrelsome, ill-tempered woman. The confidential servant left the house, and even the city. And immediately her revenge and torture of the genenl began, cutting straight at the root of his happiness, his 1 ealth, even his life. He began to receive, almost daily, letters from different parts of Russia, for Martha had plenty of friends and chums. With measureless cruelty Martha began by sending the less important documents, still signed with her mistress' maiden name ; then two or three letters from the series of the most recent times, and finally there came a whole packet of those sent by the general's wife to the tutor, in the first year of her marriage with the general, before Borisoff had met Anna. The crafty Martha, knowing perfectly the whole state of affairs to which these letters referred, often copied out their contents, and kept the letters themselves concealed, saying to herself, " God knows what may turn up, some day ! " If they are no use, I can burn them. But they may be useful. It is always a good thing to keep our masters in our power," argued the sagacious woman, and she was not mistaken in her calculations, although these letters served not for her profit, but only for a sanguinary revenge. These notes and letters, which finally opened his eyes to the true character of his wife, and his own crying injustice to his elder children, were now lying in the general's dis- patch box, in a neatly tied packet, directed in the doctor's handwriting to "Her Excellency Olga Vseslavovna Nazimoff." As soon as she received her father's first letter Anna began to get ready to go to St. Petersburg, but unfortu- nately she was kept back by the sickness, first of one child, then of another. But for his last telegrams, she would not have started even now, because she did not realize tht dan- gerous character of his illness. But now, finding that she had come too late, the unhappy woman could not forgive herself. Everyone was grieved to see her bitter sorrow, after the funeral service for her father. Princess Ryadski burst into 62 Vera Jelihovsky tears, as she looked at her; and all the acquaintances and relations of the general were far more disturbed by her despair than by the general's death. Olga Vseslavovna was secretly scandalized at such lack of self-control, but out- wardly she seemed greatly touched and troubled by the sit- uation of her poor stepdaughter. But she did not venture to express her sympathy too openly in the presence of others, remembering the words of " the crazy creature " when she had come to herself after her fainting fit, and her stepmother had hurried up to embrace her. " Leave me ! " Anna had cried, when she saw her. " I cannot bear to see you ! You killed my father ! " It was well that there were only servants in the ante- room. But the general's wife did not wish to risk another such scene, now that so many people were present. And besides she was extremely disturbed; the friends who had come to the funeral service had brought flowers; and the half-crazy princess, with the aid of two other ladies, had taken a fancy to decorate the coffin, and especially the head, with them. It is impossible to describe what Olga Vsesla- vovna suffered, as she watched all those hands moving about among the folds of the muslin, the frills, the covering, almost under the satin cushion even ; a little more and she would have fainted in earnest. She had always boasted that she had strong nerves, and this was quite true; nevertheless, during these days, their strength was evidently giving way, as she could not get to sleep for a long time that night, and heaven only knows what fancies passed through her mind. It was almost morning before Olga Vseslavovna got to sleep> and even then it was not for long. She dreamed that she was descending endless stairs and dark corridors, with a heavy, shapeless burden on her shoulders. A bright, constantly-changing flame flickered before her ; now red, now yellow, now green, it flitted before her from side to side. She knew that if she could reach it, the burden would fall from her. But the light seemed to be taunting her, now appearing, now disappearing, and sud- 63 Russian 'Mystery diaries • denly going out altogether. And she found Herself in the datkness, in a damp cellar, seemingly empty, but filled with somethimg's invisible presence. What was it? She did not know. But this pervading something frightened her ter- ribly, smothered her, pressing on her from all sides, depriv- ing her of air. She was choking ! Terror seized her at the thought that it , .- . was Dea:th! Must she die? Was it possible? But that brightly shining light had just prom- ised, her, life, gayety, brilliance ! She must hurry to overtake it. And she tried to run. But her feet would not obey her ; she could not '■ move. "Heaven ! Heaven ! " she cried, " but what is it ? Whence hassuch adisastef come? What is holding me? Let me go, or I shall be smothered in this stench, under this intoler- able burden ! "i Suddenly luri Pavlovitch walked past her. She imme- diately recognized him, and joyfully caught at his cloak. " Iiiri ! Forgive me ! Help me ! " she cried. Her husbiand stopped, looked sadly at her, and ainswei-ed : " I would gladly help you, but yoii yourself hinder me. Let me go ; I must fulfill your directions." At that moment she awoke; She was bathed in a cold perspiration, and clutched wildly at the coverlet with both hands. There was no one near her, but she clearly felt someone's presence, and was convinced that she had really seen' her husband a moment before. In her ears resounded his words: "I must fulfill your directions!" Directions? What directions ? She sprang up, and began to feel about over the carpet with hen bafe feet, 'lookShg for her slippers. A terrible thought had come into her mind. She felt that she must settle it at once. She must take the will, take it away from there! bum it! destroy it! She feverishly drew on her dressing^ gown, and threw a shawl over her shoulders. "Rita! Get up quick! Quick! Cotne!" The frightened maid rose, still half asleep, and rubbed her eyes, understanding nothing. Her mistress' ice-cold hands clutched her, and dragged her somewhere. Vera Jelihovsky ; " Ach lieber Gott . ; . . Gott in Hitnmel ! " she mut- tered. " What has happened? What, do ybu want?" • ; "Hush! Come quick!" And Olga Vseslavovna, with a. candle in her trembling hand, went forward, dragging the trembling Rita with her. She opened the door of her bedroom, ahd went out. All the doors were open en suite, and straight in front of her, in the center of the fourth, shone the coffin of her husband, covered with cloth of gold and lit up by the tall tapers standing round the bier. "What does it mean?" whispered the general's wife. " Why have they opened all the doors ? " > " I do not know . . . they were all closed last night," murmured the maid in reply, her teeth chattering with fear. She longed to ask her mistress whither they were going, and what for ? She wanted to stop, and not enter the funeral chamber; but she was afraid to speak. They passed quickly through the rooms ; at the door of the last the igeneral's wife set her candle down on a chair, and halted for a moment. The loud shoring of the reader startled them both, " It is the deacon ! " whispered the general's wife reassur- ingly. Rita had hardly strength to nod assent. All the same, the healthy snoring of a living man comforted her. Without moving from where she stood, the maid tremblingly drew her woolen shawl closer about her, trying to see the sofa on which the deacon lay. Knitting her brows, and biting her lips till they were sore, Olga Vseslavovna went forward determinedly to the bier. She thrust both hands under the; flowers on the pillow. The frill was untouched. The satin of the cushion was there, but where was . . . ? Her heart, that had been beat- ing like a hammer, suddenly stopped and stood still. There was not a trace of the will ! " Perhaps I have forgotten. Perhaps it was on the other side," thought Olga Vseslavovna, and went round to the left side of the coffin. No! It was not there, either! Where was it? Who could have taken it? Suddenly her heart failed her utterly, 65 Russian Mystery Stories • and she clutched at the edge of the coffin to keep herself from falling. It seemed to her that under the stiflf, pallid, rigidly clasped hands of the dead general something gleamed white through the transparent muslin of the covering, soi^e- thing like a piece of paper. " Nonsense ! Self-suggestion ! It is impossible ! Hallu- cination!" The thought flashed through her tortured brain. She forced herself to be calm, and to look again. Yes ! She had not been mistaken. The white comer of a folded paper appeared clearly against the general's dark uniform. At the same moment a cold draught coming from somewhere set the tapers flickering. Shadows danced around the room, over the bier, across the dead man's face ; and in the quick change of light and shadow it seemed to her that the rigid features became more living, that a mourn- ful smile formed itself on the closed lips, that the tightly- shut eyelids quivered. A wild cry rang through the whole room. With a desperate shriek : " His eyes 1 He is looking at me ! " the general's wife staggered forward and fell faint- ing to the floor, beside her husband's bier. The deacon sprang from his sofa with a cry, and an answering cry came from the lips of the shivering Rita, as she fled from the room. Servants rushed in, rubbing their eyes, still half-asleep, questioning each other, running this way and that. The deacon, spurred by a feeling of guilt, was determined to conceal the fact that he was sleeping. "It was the lady!'! he said^ "She came in to pray; she told me to stop reading while she prayed. She knelt down. Then she prayed for a long time, and suddenly , . . suddenly she cried out, and fainted. Grief, brothers! It is terrible 1 Tolose, such a husband! "and he set them to work with restoratives, himself rubbing the fallen woman's chilly hasads* , ' The general's wife opened her eyes after a few minutes. 66 Vera Jelihovsky ^ Looking wildly round in bewilderment, she seemed to be wondering where she was and how she had come there. Suddenly she remembered. "The will! In his hands! Take it!" she cried, and fainted agai' By this time the whole household was awake. Anna lurievna had come in, full of astonishment at the sudden disturbance, but with the same feeling of deep quiet and jieace still filling her heart and givirif; her features an expression of joy and calm. She heard the cry of the general's wif6, arid the words were recorded in her riiind, though she did not at first give them any meaning. She set herself, with all the tenderness of a good woman, to minister to the other's need, sending her own iriaid for sal volatile, chafing the fainting woriian's hands, arid giving orders that' a bed should be prepared for her in another rodrh, further away from the bier. As she spoke, quietly, gravely, with authority, the turmoil gradually subsided. The frightened servants recovered themselvesV arid moved about with the orderly obedience they ordinarily ' shbwed ; arid the deacon, above all anxious to tdVer his negligence, began intoning the liturgy, lending an atmosphere of solemnity to the whole room. ' ' The servants, returning to announce that the bedroom was ready, were ordered by Anna luHe'i^na to lift the faint- ing woman with all care arid gentleness, and she herself went with them to see the general's wife safely bestowed in her room, and waited while the doctor did all in his power to make her moire corrifortal)le. Qlga Vseslavdvna did not at once recover consciousness. She seemed to pass from a faint into an uneasy slumber, which, however, gradually became more quiet. , Only then, as she, was leaving the room, did Anna lurt- evria bethink her of the strange words that had fallen on. her ears; "The will! Tri his hands! Take it!'" And rejjeatiri^ them questioninglytb herself, ^he walked sjowly back toward th6 room in which lay her father's bocly.' But she was even more occupied with her own thoughts. She no longer felt in her heart the bitter resentment toward 67 Russian ■My^.Wy StQries ^ Olga Vseslayov^a that h^A filled ^, it yester4?iy. She; was) cqnscious of a feeling of sorrow fof the helpless woman, of compassion for her empty, shallow life, -the fruit of an empty, shallow heart. And she was. wondering; why such empty> joyless lives should exist in a world wherq there was such deq) happiness and joy. She came over to he^ father's coffin, close, to which: the deacon was still droning out, his liturgy, a,nd stood beside the dead bq(1y, looking down at tjie strong, quiet face, and vividly recaJUng her dre;am of the night ;bef ore., Her, eyes rested on, the many, stars and mfdals onhisibreast, and on his hands, quietly clasped in death. Then, suddenly, and quite mechanically, Olga Vseslavovna's cry* as she returned to consciojasness, came back into her mindc, "The will,!,; in this hand^! Ta^e it!" ; And .bending down,,, she |iQted for the first .time something white beneath the muslin canopy. As she scrutinized , it wonderingly, she was conscious of a.n humhle, apolc^etic yoicp murmuring something at her, ^Ibpiiy.: , ,,,,. " Forgive me, Anna lurieyna,,, IjhunibJy begyou, forgive me! It was I, . . .,,,, in the night; . . . the;, flowers fell ... I was putting theip back . • ■ fixing the head of yoUjT sainted papa. . . . It was under his head, the paper, . . . ,| thought .he wanted, to keep it. . . . I put it in his hands,, to be .safe! . . . Forgive me, Anna Jurievna, if I have done any harm. " • i :, ■ It was the deacon, still oppressed by a feeling of guilt. AnnaTuneyha turned to, him, and then turned back again, to her father's body, to the white object shining under the muslin canopy. .A.nd once more Qlg^ Vseslavovna's words came into her mind: "The will! In Wp hands ! Jake it ! " ' Gently raising the canopy, she softly drew the paper from, beneath the general's claspe(| hands, and unfolded it. She read no more than the opening words, but she had read enough to realize that it was, indeed, her father's will. 68 Feodor Mikhailovitch Dostoyeysky Crime and Punishment^ QNE s.ultry evening early in Jqly a young man emerged from the small furnished lodging he occupied in a large five-storied house in the Pereoulok S , and turned slowly, with an air of indecision, toward the K— — 7 bridge. He was fortunate enough not to meet his landlady on the stairs. She occupied the floor beneath him, and her kitchen, with its usually open door, was entered from the staircase. Thus, whenever the young man went out, he found him- self obliged to pass under the enemy's fire, which always produced a morbid terror, humiliating him and making him knit his brows. He owed her some money and ifejt afraid of encountering her. It was not that he had been terrified or crushed :by mis- fortune, but that for some time past he had fallen into a state of nervous depression akin to hypochondria. He had withdrawn from society and shut himself up, till he was ready to shun, not merely his landlady, but every human « (At the risk of shocking the reader, it has been decided that the real permanent detective stories of the yforid were ill repre- sented without Dostbyevsky's terrible tale of what might be called "self-detection." If to sensitive readers the story seenis so real as to be hideous, it is well to recall that Dostoyevsky in 1849 under- went the agony of sentence to death as a revolutionist. Although the sentence was commuted to hard labor in Siberia, and although six years later he was freed and again took up his writing, his mind , never rose from beneath the weight of horror and hopelessness that hangs over offenders against the Great White Czar. Dostoyevsky, sentenced as a criminal, herded with criminals, really became a criminal in literary imagination. Add to this a minute observa- tion, a marvelous memory, ardent political convictions — and we can understand why the story here, with others of his, is taken a«- a scientific text by qriroinologists. — Editor.) 69 Russian Mystery Stories • face. Poverty had once weighed him down, though, of late, he had lost his sensitiveness on that score. He had given up all his daily occupations. In his heart of hearts he laughed scornfully at his landlady and. the extremities to which she might proceed. Still, to be waylaid on the stairs, to have to listen to all her jargon, hear her demands, threats, and complaints, and have to make excuses and subterfuges in return — no, he preferred to steal down with- out attracting notice. On this occasion, however, vvheh he had gained the street, he felt surprised himself at this dread of meeting the wdnian to whom he was in debt. "Why should I be alarmed b^ these trifles when I am cOntemplatfng' such a desperate deed? " thought he, and . lie gave a strange smile. " Ah, well, man holds the rem- edy in his own hands, and lets everything go its own way, simply throtigh cbwkrilice — that is an axiom. I shqiild "like to know what people fear most : — whatever is contrary to thSir lisu^l habits, I imagine, But I am talking toio much. I talk and so I do nothing, though 1 might just as well say, I do nothing and so I talk. I have acquired this habit of chattering during this last month, while I haye "been lying for days together in a corner, feeding my mind on trifles. Come, why am I taking this walk now? Am 1 capable of that? Can thai really be serious? Not in the least. These are mere chimeras, idle fancies that flit across nif brain! "■ ' Tlae heat in the streets was stifling. The crowd, the sight of lime, bricks, scaffolding, and the peculiar odor so _ familiar to, the nostrils of the inhabitant of St., Petersburg who has no means of escaping to the country for the sum- mer, all contributed to iWtate the young man's already excited nerves. The reeking fumes of the dram shops, so numerous in this part of the city, and the tipsy men to be seen at every point, although it was no holiday, com- pleted the , repulsive character of the scene. Our hero's refined features betrayed, for a moment, an expression of Isitter disgust. We may observe casually that he was not "destitute of personal attractions; he was above middle '70 Feodor Dostoyevsky height, with a slender and well-proportioned figure, and he had dark auburn hair and fine dark eyes. In a li'tle while he sank into a deep reverie, or rather into a sort of men- tal torpor. He walk)?d on without noticing, or trying to notice, his surroundings. Occasionally he muttered a few words to himself; as if, as he himself had just perceived, this had become his habit. At this moment it dawned upon him that his ideas were becoming confused and that he was very feeble; he had eaten nothing worth mention- ing for the last two days. His dress was so miserable that anyone else might have scrupled to go out in such rags during the daytime. This quarter of the city, indeed, was not particular as to dress. In the neighborhood of the Cyennaza of Haymarket, in those streets in the heart of St. Petersburg, occupied by the artisan classes, no vagaries in costume call forth the least surprise. Besides the young man's fierce disdain had reached such a pitch, that, notwithstanding his extreme sensitiveness, he felt no shame at exhibiting his tattered garments in the street. He \yould have felt differently had he come across anyone he knew, any of the old friends whom he usually avoided. Yet he stopped short on hear- ing the attention of passers-by directed to him by the thick voiceof a tipsy man shouting: "Eh, look at the German hatter! " The exclamation came from an individual who, for some unknown reason, was being jolted away in a great wagon. The' young man snatched off his hat and began to examine it. It was a high-crdwned hat that had been originally bought at Zimmermann's, but had become worn and rusty, was covered with dents and stains, slit iand short of a brirri, a frightful object in short. Yet its ownerj far from feeling his vanity wounded, was suffering father from anxiety than humiliation. " I suspected' this," muttered he, uneasily, " I foresaw it. That's the worst of it I Some wretched trifle like' this might sppil it all. Yes, this hat is certainly too' rernarlc- able; it looks so ridiculous. T must get a cap fo suit my rags; any old thing would be better than this horror. Hats 71 Russian Mystery Stories • like these are not worn; this one would be noticeable a verst ^ off ; it would be remembered ; people would think of it again some time after, and it might furnish a clew. I must attract as little attention as possible Just now. Trifles becorne important, everything hinges on them." He had not far to go; he knew the exact distance be- tween his lodging and present destination — ^just seven hun- dred and thirty paces. , He had counted them when his plan only floated through his brain like, a vague dream. ■ At that time, he himself would not have believed it capable of realization ; he merely dallied in fancy with a chimera which was both terrible and seductive; But a month had elapsed, and he had already begun to view it in a different light. Although he reproached himself, throughout his soliloquies with irresolution and a want of energy, he had accustomed; himself, little by little, and, indeed, in spite of himself, to consider the realization of his dream a possi- bility, though he dojibted his own resolution. He was but just, now rehearsing his enterprise, and his agitation was increasing at every step. His heart sank, and his limbs trembled nervously, as he came to an immense pile of building facing the canal on one side and the street on the other. This block was divided into a host of small tenements, tenanted by all sorts of tra,des. People were swarming in and out through the two doors. There were three or four dvorniks/' be- longing to the house, but the young man, to his great sat- isfaction, came across none of them, and, escaping notice as he entered, mounted at once the stairs on the right hand. He had already made acquaintance with this dark and narrow staircase, and its obscurity was grateful to hjm; it was gloomy enough to hide him from prying eyes. " If I feel so timid now, what will it be when I come to put my plan into execution?" thought he, as he reached, the, fourth floor. Here he found the passage blocked; some military porters were removing the furniture from, 3 tene- ment recently occupied, as the young man knew, by a Ger- •1,000 yards. » Janitors. 72 Feodor Dostoyevsky man ofSqial and his family. " Thanks to the departure of this German, for some time to come there will be no one on this landing but the old woman. It is as well to know this, at any rate," thought he to himself, as he rang the old woman's bell. It gave a faint sound, as if it were made of tin instead of copper. In houses of this sort, the smaller lodgings generally have such bells. He had forgotten this; the peculiar tinkling sound seemed to recall something to his memory, for he gave a shiver — his nerves were very weak. In another moment the door was opened part way, and the occupant of the rooms stood examining her visitor through the opening with evident suspicion, her small eyes glimmering through the darkness like luminous points. But when she saw the people on the landing, she seemed reassured, and flung the door open. The young man entered a gloomy ante- chamber, divided by a partition, behind which was a small kitchen. The old woman stood silently in front of him, eying him keenly. She was a thin little creature of sixty, with a small sharp nose, and eyes sparkling with malice. Her head was uncovered, and her grizzled locks shone with grease. A strip of flannel was wound round her long thin neck, and, in spite of the heat, she wore a shabby yellow fur tippet on her shoulders. She coughed inces- santly. The young man was probably eying her strangely, for the look of mistrust suddenly reappeared on her face. " The Student RaskoJnikqfif. I called on you a month ago," said the visitor, hurriedly, with a slight bow. He had suddenly remembered that he must make, himself more agreeable. " I remember, batuchka, I reihember it ^ell," returned the old woman, still fixing her eyes on him suspiciously. " Well, then, look here. I have come again on a similar errand," continued Raskolnikpfif, somewhat surprised and uneasy at being received with so much distrust. " After all, this may be her usual manner, though I did not notice it before," thought he, unpleasantly impressed. The old woman remained silent a while, and seemed to 73 Russian Mystery Stories • reflect. Then, pointing to the door of the inner room, she drew back for her visitor to pass, and said, " Come in, batuchka." ^ The small room into which the young man was ushered was papered with yellow; there were geraniums and muslin curtains in the windows, and the setting sun shed a flood of light on the interior. " The sun will shine on it just the same thenl " said Raskolnikoff all at once to himself, as he glanced rapidly round to take in the various objects and engrave them on his memory. The room, however, con- tained nothing remarkable. The yellow wood furniture was all very old. A couch with a shelving back, opposite which stood an oval table, a toiltet-table with a pier glass attached, chairs lining the walls, and two or three poor prints representing German girls with birds in their hands, completed the inventory. A lamp was burning in one cor- ner in front of a small image. The floor and furniture were clean and well polished. " Elizabeth attends to that," thought the young man. It would have been difficult to find a speck of dust on anything. " It is only in the houses of these dreadful old widows that such order is to be seen," continued Raskolnikoff to himself, looking with curiosity at the chintz Curtain overhanging the door which led into a second small room, in which he had never set foot; it contained the old woman's bed and chest of drawers. The apartfnent consisted of these two rooms. " What is it^ you want ? " asked the mistress of the house dryly; she had followed her visitor in, and planted herself in front of him to examine him more closely. " I have come to pawn something, that is all ! " With this he drew from his pocket a flat old silver watch. A globe was engraved inside the lid, and the chain was of ,steel. _ , "But you have not repaid the sum^ I lent you before. It was due two days ago." "I will pay you the interest for another month; have a little patience." « "Little father." 74 Feodor Dostoyevsky , " I may have patience or I may sell your pledge at onc^ datuchka, just whichever I like." '~ " What will you give me on this watch, Alena Ivan- ovna? " " That is a wretched thing, batuchka, worth a mere noth- ing. Last time I lent you two small notes on your ring, when I could have bought a new one at the jeweler's for a ruble and a half." " Give me four rubles, and I will redeem it ; it belonged to my father. I expect some money soon." " A ruble and a half ! and I shall take the interest iii advance." " A ruble and a half! " protested the young man. " Please yourself whether you take it or not." So siyirig'y the old woman tendered back the watch. Her visitor took it and was about to depart in vexation, when he reflected- that this money lender was his last resource — and, befrideSy, he had another object in coming. " Come, fork out J" said he in a rough tone^^ The old woman fumbled in her pockets for her keys, and passed on into the adjoining room. The young man, left standing there alone, pricked up his ears and began to make various inductions. He heard this female usurer open her drawer. " It must be the top one," was his conclusion. " li know tiow that she carries her keys in her right pocket — they are all hung on a steel ring — one of them is three times as large as the rest, and has the wards toothed; that cannot be the key of her drawer — then she must have some strong box or safe. It is curious that the keys of strong boxes should be generally like that — but, after alii; how ignoble! " ' . . ,> The old Woman reappeared. "See htt€, batuchka: if V take a ten-kopeck piece a month on each ruble, I otrght t6» receive fifteen kopecks on a ruble and a half, the interest- being payable in advance. Then; as you ask me to wait: another mdhth for the repayment of the two rubles 1 have: already lent you, you Owe me twenty kopecks more, which makes a total of five and thirty. -What, therefore, I haver 75 Russian Mystery Stories ^ to advance upon your watch is one ruble fifteen kopecks. Here it is."" " What! Is one ruble fifteen kopecks all you mean to give me now ? " ' " That is ^11' that is due to you." The young man took the. money without further discus- sion. He looked at the old woman and was in no haste to depart. He seemed anxious to say or do something more, but without knowing exactly what. "Perhaps I may be bringing you some other article soon, Alena Ivanovna, a very pretty cigar, case — a silver one — when I get it back from the friend to whom I have lent it." The^e words were uttered vvith much embarrassment. " Well, we can talk about it, then, batuchka." ." (Grood-by. You are always alone — is your sister never with you?" asked he with, as; indifferent an air as he could assume, as he entered the anteroom. " What have you to do with my sister, batuchka ? " " Nothing, I had no reason for asking. You will — well, good-by, Alena Ivanovna." Raskolnikqlf made his exit in a perturbed state of mind. As he went downstairs, he stopped from time to time, as if overcome by violent emotion. When he had at length emerged upon the street, he exclaimed to himself: " How loathsome it all is! Can I, pan I ever? — no, it is absurd, preposterous !" added he .mentally. "How could such a horrible idea ever enter my head? Could I ever be capable of such infamy? It is odious, ignoble, repulsive! And yet for a whoJe month " „ Words and exclamations, however, could not give full vent to his agitation. The loathing sense of disgust which had begun to oppress him on his way to the old woman's house had now become so intense that he longed to find some way of escape from the torture. He reeled along the pavement like a tipsy man, taking no notice of those who passed; but bumping against them. On looking round he saw a dram shop near at hand; steps led down from the footpath to the basement, a^id Raskolnikofif saw two drunk- ' 76 Feodor Dostoyevsky ards coming out at that moment, leaning heavily on each other and exchanging abusive language. The young man barely paused before he descended the steps. He had never before entered such a place, but he felt dizzy and was also suffering from intense thirst. He had a craving for some beer, partly because he attributed his weakness to an empty stomach, ^eating himself in a dark and dirty corner, in: front of a filthy little table, he called for some beer, and eagerly drank ofiE a glass. He felt instantly relieved, and his brain began to clear : " How absurd I have been ! " said he to himself, " there was really nothing to make me uneasy! It was simply physical ! A glass of beer and a mouthful of biscuit were all that was necessary to restore my strength of mind and make my thoughts clear and resolution fixed. How paltry all this is!" The next morning Raskolnikbff awoke late, after dis- turbed and unrefreshing slumbers. He felt very cross and glanced angrily round his room. It was a tiny place, not more than six feet in length, and its dirty buff paper hung in shreds, giving it a most miserable aspect; besides vijhich, the ceiling was so low that a tall man would have felt jn danger of bumping his head. The furniture was quite in harmony with the room, consisting of three old rickety chairs, a painted table in one corner, on which lay books and papers thick with dust (showing how long it was since they had been touched), and, finally, a large and very ugly sofa with ragged covers. This sofa, which filled nearly half the room, served Raskolnikoff as a bed. He often lay down on it in his clothes, without any sheets, covering him- self with his old student's coat, and using instead of a pil- low a little cushioh, which he raised by keeping under it all his clean or dirty linen. Before the sofa stood a small table. Raskolnikoff's misanthropy did not take offense at the dirty state of his den. Human faces had grown so distaste- ful to him, that the very sight of the servant whose business it was to clean the rooms produced a feeling of exaspera^ 77 Russian Mystery stories • tion. To such a condition may monomaniacs come by con- tinually brooding over one idea. For the last foxtrtight, the landlady had ceased to supply her lodger with provi- sions, and he had not yet thought of demanding an ex- planation. Nastasia, who had to cook and clean for the whole house, was not sorry to see the lodger in this state of mind, as it diminished her labors : she had quite given up tidying and dusting his room ; the utmost she did was to come and sweep it once a week. , She it was who was arousing him at this moment. " Come, get up, why are you sleeping so late ? " she ex- claimed., " It is nine o'clock. I have brought up, some.tea, ■will you take a cup? How pale you look! " Raskolnikoff opened his eyes, shook hiinself, and recog- nized Nastasia. ," Has the , landlady sent me this tea?" asked he, making a painful effort to sit up. "Not much chance of that!" And the servant placed before him her own teapot, in which there was still some tea left, and l?iid two small lumps of brownish sugar on the table. " Here, Nastasia, take this, please," said RaskolnikofF, fumbling in his pocket and drawing out a handful of small change (for he had again lain down in his clothes), "and fetch me a white roll. Go tq the pork shop as well, and buy me a bit o| cheap sausage." "I will bring you the roll in a minute, but had you not better take some shtchi^ instead of tlie sausage? We make -it here, and it is capital. I kept some for you last night, but it was so late before you came in! You will find it very good.". She went to fetch the shtchi, and, when Raskolni- Icoff had begjaqto eat, she seated herself on the sofa beside bim and commenced to chatter, like a true country girl as she was. " Prascoyi^jPauloyna means to report you to the police," said she. The young man's brow .clouded. "To the police? Why?" ' ' , ' "" Because you doii't pay and won't go. That's why." 1 Cabbage soup. 78 Feodor Dostpyevsky " The deuce ! " growled he between his teeth, " that Is the finishing stroke; it comes at a most unfortunate junc- ture. She is a fool," added he aloud. " I shall go and talk: to her to-morrow." " She is, of course, just as much of a fool as I am ; but why do you, who are so intelligent, lie here doing nothitig? How is it you never seem to have money for anything nowj*- You used to give lessons, I hear; how is it you do noth- ing now?" " I am engaged on something," returned RaskolnikofE dryly and half reluctantly. "On what?" " Some work " "Whatsort of work?" "Thinking," replied he gravely, after a short silence. Nastasia was convulsed. She was of a merry disposition, but her laughter was always noiseless, an internal convul- sion which made her actually writhe with pain. " And does your thinking bring you any money? " asked she, as soon, as she could manage to speak. " Weill I can't give lessons when I have no boots to go out in? Besides, I despise them." " Take care lest you suffer for it.'' " There is so little to be made by giving lessons ! What can one do with a few kopecks? " said he in an irritable tone, rather to himself than the servant. " So you wish to make your fortune at one stroke? " He looked at her rather strangely, and was silent for a moment. " Yes, my fortune," rejoined he impressively. " Hush ! you frighten me, you look terrible. Shall I go> and fetch you a roll?" ' " Just as you like." Later in the day, Raskolnikoflf went out and wandered about the streets. At last he sat down under a tree to rest, and fell into a reverie. His limbs felt disjointed, and his mind was in darkness and confusion. He placed his elbows, on his knees and held his head with his hands. " God! Am I to stand beating in her skull with a hatchet- 79 Russian Mystery Stories ^ or something, wade in warm jplood, break open the lock and rob and tremble, blood flowing all around,, and hide myself, with the hatchet? O God! is this indeed possible, and must it be? " He trembled like a leaf as he said this. ."What am I thinking of?" he cried- in some astonish- ment. " I know well I could not endure that with which I have been torturing myself. I saw that clearly yesterday when I tried to rehearse it. Perfectly plain. Then what am I questioning? Did I not say yesterday as I went up the stairs how disgusting and mean and low it all was, and did not I run away in terror?" He stood up and looked all round, wondering how he ■got there, and moved off toward the T bridge. He was pale and his eyes were hot, and feebleness was in all his members, but he seemed to breathe easier. He felt that he had .thrown oiT the old time which had been so oppressive; and in its place had come peace and light. "Lord!" he prayed, " show me my way, that I may renounce these hor- rid thoughts of mine ! " i Going across the bridge, he quietly gazed on the Neva, and the clear red sunset. He did not feel himself tired now, notwithstanding his weakness, and the load which had lain upon his heart seemed to be gone. Liberty! Liberty! he was free from those enchantnients and all their vile, insti- gations. In later times when he recalled this period of his existence, and all that happened to him in those days, min-. tite by/ minute and point by point, he recollected how each circumstance, although in the main not very unusual, con- stantly appeared to his mind as an evidence of the prede- termination of his. fate, so superstitious was he. Especially "he could never understand why he, weary and harassed as he was, could not have returned home by the shortest route, instead of across the Haymarket, which was quite out of the way. Certainly, a dozen times before, he had reached his lodgings by most circuitous routes, and never known through which streets he had come. But why (he always asked) should such a really fateful meeting have taken place in the market (through which there was no 80 Feodor Dostoyevsky need to go), and happen, too, at exactly such a time and at a moment of his life when his mind was in the state it was, and the event, in these circumstances, could only- produce the most definite and decided efifect upon his fate? Suf ely he was the instrument of some purpose ! It was about nine o'clock as he stood in the Haymarket. All the dealers had closed their establishments or cleared away their goods and gone home. About this place, with its tattered population, its dirty and nauseous courtyards and numerous alleys, Raskolnikofif dearly loved to roam in his aimless wanderings. He attracted no notice there. At the corner of K Lane were a dealer and his wife, who- were engaged in packing up their wares, consisting of tapes, handkerchiefs, cotton, &c., preparatory to going: home. They were lingering over their work, and con- versing with an acquaintance. This was Elizabeth Ivan- ovna, or simple Elizabeth, as all called her, the younger sister of the old woman, Alena Ivanovna, to whose rooms Raskolnikofif went the day before for the purpose of pawn- ing his watch to make his rehearsal. He knew all about this Elizabeth, as she knew also a little about him. She was a tall, awkward woman, about thirty-five years of age, timid and quiet, indeed almost an idiot, and was a regular slave to her sister, working for her day and night, trem- bling before her and enduring even blows. She was evi- dently hesitating about something, as she stood there with a bundle under her arm, and her friends were pressing some subject rather warmly. When Raskolnikoff recog- nized her he seemed struck with the greatest astonishment, although there was nothing strange about such a meeting. " You ought to decide yourself, Elizabeth Ivanovna,," said the man. " Come to-morrow at seven o'clock." " To-morrow? " said Elizabeth slowly, as if undecided. " She is frightened of Alena Ivanovna," cried the wife, a brisk little woman. " You are like a little child, Elizabeth Ivanovna, and she's not your own sister, but a stepsister. She has too much her own way." " You say nothing to Alena Ivanovna," interrupted the 8i Russian Mystery Stories • man, "and come without asking, that's the way to do it, and your sister can manage herself." "'When shall I come?" ""At seven o'clock, to-morrow." "Very well, I will come," said Elizabeth, slowly and re- Huctantly. .She then quitted them. Raskolnikoff also' went away, and stayed to hear no imore. His original amazement had changed gradually into a feeling of actual terror; a chill ran down his, back. He had learned unexpectedly and positively, that, at seven o'clock the next evening, Elizabeth, the old woman's sis- ter, the only person living with her. would not be at home, and that, therefore, the ;old woman, at seven o'clock, to- anorrow, would be tliere aloHe., It needed but a few steps tp Teach his room. He went along like one sentenced to death, with his reason clogged and numbed. He felt that no^yv sail liberty of action and free will were gone, and everything ■was irrevocably decided. :A more convenient occasion than was thus unexpectedly offered to him now would never larise, and he might never learn again, beforehand, that, at a certain time on a certain day, she, on whonv he was to make the. attempt, would be entirely alone. Raskolnikoff learned subsequently what induced the man and his wife to invite Elizabeth to call on them. It •was a very simple matter. A foreign family, finding them- selves in straitened circumstances, were desirous of parting -with various things, consisting for the most part in articles of female attire. They were anxious, therefore, to meet with a dealer in cast-off clothes, and this was one of Eliza- Ibeth's callings. She had a large connection, because she was very honest and always stuck to her price : there was no higgling to be done with her. She was a woman of few words and very shy and reserved. But Raskolnikoff was very superstitious, and traces of this remained in him long after. In all the events of thi^ period of his life he was ever ready to detect something mysterious, and attribute every circumstance to the presence of some particular influence upon his destiny. 82 Feodor Dastoyevsk^ The previous winter, a fellow student, Pokoreff by nam-o, on leaving for Charkoff, had happened to communicate to him in conversation the address of Alena Ivanovna, in case he should ever require to pawn anything. For a long time he did not use it, as he was giving lessons, and managed somehow to get along; but six weeks before this time he had recollected the address. He had two things fit to pawn — an old silver watch, formerly his father's ; and a small gold ring with three red stones, a souvenir from his sister on leaving home. He decided oti getting rid of the latter, and went to the old woman's. At the first glance, and knowing nothing whatever of her personally, she in- spired him with an unaccountable loathing. He took her two notes, and on leaving went into a poor traktir, or res- taurant, and ordered some tea. He sat down musing, and strange thoughts flitted across his mind and became hatched in his brain. Close by, at another table, were seated a stu- dent, whom he did not know, and a young officer. They had been playing billiards, and were now drinking tea. Suddenly jRaskolnikdfif heard the student give the officer the address of Alena Ivanovna, the widow of a professor, as one who lent money on pledges. This alone struck Raskolnikofif as very peculiar. They were talking of the same person. he. had just been to see. No doubt it was pure chance, but, at the moment he was struggling against an impression he could not overcome, this stranger's wbrds came and gave extraforce to it. The student went on talk- ing, and began to give his companion some account of Alena Ivanovna. "She is well known," he said, "and always good for money. She is as rich as a Jew, and cail advance five thou- sand rubles at a moment's notice; yet she will take in pledge objects worth as little as a ruble. She is quite a providence to many of our fellows — ^but such an old hag! I tell you what I would do. I would kill that damnable old hag, and take all she is possessed of, without any qualm of conscience," exclaimed the student excitedlyi ' The officer laughed, but Raskolnikofif shuddered. The words just ut- ,83 Russian Mystery Stories tered so strongly echoed his own thoughts. " Let me put a serious question to you," resumed the student, more and more excited. " I have hitherto been joking, but now Usten to, this. On the one side here is a silly, flint-hearted, evil- minded, sulky old woman, necessary to no one — on the contrary, pernicious to all — and who does not know herself why she lives." " Well? " said the officer. " Hear me further. On the other hand, young fresh strength droops and is lost for want of sustenance ; this is the case with thousands everywhere ! A hundred, a thou- sand good deeds and enterprises could be carried out and upheld with the money this old woman has bequeathed to a monastery. A dozen families might be saved from hun- ger, want, ruin, crime, and misery, and all with her money ! Kill her, I say, take it from her, and dedicate it to the service of humanity and the general good! What is your opinion? Shall not one little crime be effaced and atoned for by a thousand good deeds ? For one useless life a thou- sand lives saved from decay and death. One death, and a hundred beings restored to existence! There's a calcula- tion for you. What in proportion is the life of this miser- able old woman ? No more than the life of a flea, a beetle, nay, not even that, for she is pernicious. She preys on other lives. She lately bit Elizabeth's finger, in a fit of passion, and nearly bit it off ! " " Certainly she does not deserve to live," observed the officer, " but nature^ " " Ah, my friend, nature has to be governed and guided, or we should be drowned in prejudices. Without it there would never be one great man. They say ' duty is con- science.' Now I have nothing to say against duty and conscience, but let us see, how do we understand them ? Let me put another question to you. Listen." " Stop a minute, I will give you one." "Well?" " After all you have said and declaimed, tell me — are you going to kill the' old woman yourself, or not ? " 84 Feodor Dostoyevsky " Of' course not; I only pointed out the inequality of things. As for the deed " " Well, if you won't, it's my opinion that it would not be just to do so I Gome, let's have another game ! " RaskolnikofiE was in the greatest agitation. Still, there was nothing extraordinary in this conversation; it was not the first time he had heard, only in other forms and on other topics, such ideas from the lips of the young and hot- headed. But wliy should he, of all men, happen to over- hear such a conversation and such ideas, when the very same thoughts were being engendered in himself? — and why precisely then, immediately on his becoming possessed of them and on leaving the old woman ? Strange, indeed, did this coincidence appear to him. This idle conversation was destined to have a fearful influence on his destiny, ex- tending to the most trifling iricident and causing him to feel sure he was the instrument of a fixed purpose. On his return from the market, he flung himself upon his couch and sat motionless for a whole hour. ■ It became dark, he had no light, but sat on. He could never after- wards recollect his thoughts at the time. At last he felt cold, and a shiver ran through him; He recognized with delight that he was sitting on his couch and could lie down, and soon he fell into a deep, heavy sleep. He slept much longer than iisual, and his slumbers were undisturbed by dreams. Nastasia, who came to his room the next morn- ing at ten o'clock, had great difficulty in awakening him. The servant brought him some bread and, the same as the day before, what was left of her tea. " Not up. yet I " exclaimed she indignantly. " How can you sleep so long ? " Raskolnikofif raised himself with an effort; his head ached; he got upon his feet, took a few steps, and then dropped down again upon the couch. " What, again 1 " cried Nastasia, " but you must be ill then ? " He did not answer. " Would you like some tea ? " " By and by," he muttered painfully, after which he 85 Russian Mystery Stories ^ closed his eyes and turned his face tb the wall. Nastasia, standing over him, remained watching him for a while. " After all, he's perhaps ill," said she, i before withdrawing. At two o'clock she returned with somesoupu Raskolni- koff was still lying on the couch. He had- not touched the tea. The servant became angry and shook the lodger vio- lently. " Whatever makes you sleep thus ? " scolded she, eying him contemptuously. He sat up, but answered not a word, and remained with his eyes fixed on the floor. "Are you ill, or are you not?" asked Nastasia. This second question met with no more answer than the first. " You should go out," continued she, after a pause, "the fresh air would do you good. You'll eat something, will you not?" " By and by," answered he feebly. " Go away ! " and he motioned her oil. She remained a moment longer, watch- ing him with an air of pity, and then left the room. After a few minutes he raised his eyes, gave a long look at the tea and soup, and then began to eat. He swallowed three or four spoonfuls without the least appetite — almost mechanically. His head, fielt better. When he had finished his light repast, he again lay down on the couch, but he could not sleep and remained motionless, flat on his stom- ach, his face buried in the pillow. His reverie kept conjur- ing up strange scenes. At one time he was in Africa, in Egypt, on some oasis, where palms were dotted about. The caravans were at rest, the camels lay quietly, and the trav- elers were eating their evening meal. They drank water direct from the stream which ran murmuring close by. How refreshing was the marvelously blue water, and how beauti- fully clear it looked as it ran over many-colored stones and mingled with the golden spangles of the sandy bottom ! All at once he clearly heard the hour chiming. He shuddered, raised his head, looked, at the window to calculate the time. He came to himself, immediately and jumped up, and, go- ing on tiptoe, silently opened the door and stood listening on the landing. His heart beat violently. But not a sound 86 I .Peodor Dostoyevsky £ame froiH the stajrcase. It seemed as though the house was wrapped in sleep. He could not Xinderstand how he had been able to sleep away the time as he had done, while nothing was prepared for the enterprise. And yet it was, perhaps, six o'clock that had just struck. Then, he became excited as he felt what there was to be done, and he endeavored with all his might to keep his thoughts from wandering and concentrate his mind on his task. All the time his' heart thumped and beat until he could hardly draw breath. In the first place it v^as neces- sary to make a loop and fasten to his coat. He went to his pillow and took from among the linen he kept there an old: and dirty shirt and tore part of it into strips. He then fastened a couple of these together, and, taking off his ooat-^a stout cotton summer one — began to sew the loop inside, under the left arm. His hands shook violently, but he accomplished his task satisfactorily, and when he again put on his coat nothing was visible. Needle and thread had been procured long ago, and lay on the table in a piece of paper. The loop was provided for a hatchet. It would never have done to have appeared in the streets car- rying a hatchet, and if he placed it undeir the coat, it would have been necessary to hold it with his hands ; but with the loop all he had to do was to put the iron in it and it would hang of itself under the coat, and with his hands in his pockets he could keep it from shaking,, and no one could suspect that he was carrying anything. He had thought over all this about a fortnight before. Having finished his task, Raskolnikoff inserted his finger in a small crevice in the floor under his couch, and brought out the pledge with which he had been careful to provide himself. This pledge was, however, only a sham— a thin smooth piece of wood about the size and thickness of a sil- ver cigarette case, which he had found in a yard adjoining a carpenter's shop, and a thin piece of iron of about the same size, which he had picked up in the street. ! He fas- tened the two together firmly with thread, then proceeded to wrap them up neatly in a piece of clean white paper, and 87 Russian Mystery Stories • tie the parcel in such a manner that it would be difficult to undo it again. This was all done in order to occupy the attention of the old woman and to seize a favorable oppor- , tunity when she would be busy with the knot. The piece of iron was simply added for weight, in order that she might not immediately detect the fraud. He had just finished, and had put the packet in his pocket, when in the fcourt below resounded the cry : " Six o'clock struck long ago ! " " Long ago ! Good heavens ! " He ran to the door, listened, seized his hat, and went down the stairs cautiously and stealthily as a cat. He still had the most important thing to do — to steal the hatchet out of the kitchen. That a hatchet was the best instrument, he had long since decided. He had an Old garden knife, but on a knife — especially on his' own strength — he could not rely ; he finally fixed on the hatchet. A peculiarity was to be noticed in all these resolutions of his ; the more defi- nitely they were settled, the more abstird and horrible they immediately appeared to his eyes^ and never, for a moment, did he feel sure of the execution of his project. But even if every question had been settled, every doubt cleared away, every difficulty overcome, he would probably have renounced his design on the instant, as something absurd, monstrous, and impossible. But there were still a host of matters to arrange, of problems to solve. As to procuring the hatchet, this trifle did not trouble Raskolnikofi in the least, for nothing was easier. As a matter of fact Nastasia was scarcely ever at home, especially of an evening. She was constantly out gossiping with friends or tradespeople, and that was the reason of her mistress's constant com- plaints. When the time came, all he would have to do would be to quietly enter the kitchen and take the hatchet, and then to replace it an hour afterwards when all was over. But perhaps this would not be as easy as he fancied. " Sup- pose," said the young man to himself, " that when, in an hour's time, I come to replace the hatchet, Nastasia should have come in. Now, in that case, I could naturally not 88 Peodor Dostoyevsky enter the kitchen until she ;had gone out again. But sup- posing during . this time she notices the absence of the hatchet, she will grumble, perhaps kick up a shindy, a.nd that win serve to denounce mp,; or at least might do so ! " Before he had got to the bottom of the staircase, a trifling circumstance came and upset all his plans. On reaching his landlady's landing, he fouiid the kitchen door wide open, as usual, and he peeped in, in order to make sure that, in the absence of Nastasia, her mistress was not there; and that theldoort of the other rooms were closed. But'great was his annoyance to find 'Nastasia there herself, engaged in hanging clothes on a line. Perceiving' the young man, she stopped and turned to him inquiringly. He averted his eyes and' went away without ^ remark. But the affair was done for. There was no hatchet, he was frustrated entirely. He felt crushed, nay, humiliated, but a feeling of brutal vindictiveness at his disappointment soon ensued, and he continued down the stairs, smiling maliciously to himself. He stood hesitating at the gate. To walk about the streets or to go back were equally repugnant. " To think that I have missed such a splendid opportunity!" he murmured as he stood aimlessly at the entrance, leaning near the open door of the porter's lodge. Suddenly he started^ — something in the dark robni attracted his eye. He looked quietly around. No one was near. He descended the two steps on tiptoe, and called for the porter. There was no reply, and he rushed headlong to the hatchet (it was a hatchet), secured it where it lay among some wood, and hurriedly fastened it to the loop as he made his way out into the street. No one saw him! "There's more of the devil in this than my design," he said smiling to himself. The oc- currence gave him fresh courage. He went away quietly in order not to excite any suspi- cion, and walked along the street with his eyes studiously fixed on the ground, avoiding the faces of the passers-by. Suddenly he recollected his hat. " Good heavens ! the day before yesterday I had money, and not to have thought of that I I could so easily Have bought a cap ! " and he began 89 Russian Mystery Stories 4* cursing himself. Glancing casually in a shop, he saw it was ten minutes past seven. He had yet a long way to go, as he was making a circuit, not wishing to walk direct to the house. He kept off, as much as he was able, all thought of his mission, and on the way reflected upon pos- sible improvements of the public grounds^ upon the de- sirability of fountains, SLnd why people lived where there were neither parks nor fountains, but only mud, lime, and bricks, emitting horrid exhalations and every conceivable foulness. This reminded him of his own walks about the Cyennaza, and he came to himself. "How true it is that persons being led to execution in- terest themselves in anything that strikes them on the way ! " was the thought that came into his head^ but it passed away like lightning to be succeeded by some other. "Here we are — there. is the gate." It struck half-past seven as he stood near the house. To his delight, he passed in without observatioin. As if on purpose, at the very same moment a load of hay was going in, and it completely screened him. On the other side of the load, a dispute or brawl, was evidently taking place, and he gained the old woman's staircase in a second. Recovering his breath and pressing his! hand to his beating heart, he commenced the ascent, though first feeling for the hatchet and arranging it. Every minute he stopped to listen. The stairs were quite deserted, and every door was closed. No, one met him. On. the second floor, indeed, ;he door of an empty lodging was wide open j some painters were working there, but they did not, lopk up. He stopped d moment to think, and then continue^!. the ascent: " ]S[o doubt it would be better if they W€;re n|Pt there, but fortu- nately there are two more floors above them." At la,st he reached the fourth ■ flo.pr, and Alena.Ivanoyna's door; the lodging facing it was, unoccupied. The lodging on the third floor. Just beneath the old woman's, was also apparently empty. The card that used to be on; the door had gone; the lodgers h^d, no, doubt, mqved,., , Raslcolnikoff was sti- fling. He stood- hps^itating a momenj: " H^d I not .better 90 Feodor Destoyevsky go away B " But without answering the question, he waited and listened. Not a sound issued from the old woman's apartments. The staircase was filled with the same silence. After listening for a long time, the young man cast a last glance around, and again felt his hatchet. " Do I not look too pale?" thought he. " Do I not appear too agitated? She is mistrustful. I should: do well to wait a little, to give my emotion time to calm down." But instead of becoming quieter, his heart throbbed more violently. He could stand it no longer, and, raising his hand toward the bell rope, he pulled it toward him. After waiting half a minute, :he rang again — this time a little louder. No answer. To ring like a deaf man would have been useless, stupid even. The old woman was certainly at home; but. suspicious by nature, she was likely to be so all, the more then, as she happened to. be alone. Raskolni- koil knew something of Alena Ivanovna's habits. He therefore pladed his car to the door. Had the circumstance^ amid, which he was placed strangely developed his power of hearing,. which, in general, is difiScult to admit, or was the sound really easily perceptible? Anyhow, he suddenly /became aware that a hand was being cautiously placed on the lock, and that a dress rustled against the door. Some one inside was going through exactly the same movements as he on the landing. Some one, standing up against the lock,, was listening while trying to hide her presence, and had probably her ear also against the door. In order to avoid all idea of mystery, the young man purposely moved about rather noisily, and muttered some- thing half aloud; then he rang a third time, but gently and coolly, without allowing the bell to betray the least sign of impatience. Raskolnikoff never forgot this moment of his life. When, in after days, he thought over it, he could never tmderstand how he had been able to display such cunning, especially at a time when emotion was now and again de- priving him of the free use of his intellectual and physical faculties. After a short while he heard the bolt withdrawn. The door, as before, was opened a little, and again the Russian Mystery Stories • two eyes, with mistrustful glance, peeped out of the dark. Then Raskolnikoflf lost his presence of mind and made a serious mistake. Fearing that the old woman would take alarm at finding they were alone, and knowing that his ap- pearance would not reassure her, he took hold of the door and pulled it toward him in order to prevent her shutting it again if she should be thus minded. Seeing this, she held on to the lock, so that he almost drew her together with the door on to the staircase. She recovered herself, and stood to prevent his entrance, speechless with fright. " Good evening, Alena Ivanovna," he commenced, try- ing to speak with unconcern, but his voice did not obey him, and he faltered and trembled, " Good evening, I have brought you something, but we had better go into the light." He pushed past her and entered the room unin- vited. The old woman followed and found her tongue. " What is it you want ? Who are you ? " she commenced. " Pardon me, Alena Ivanovna, your old acquaintance Raskolnikoff. I have brought a pledge, as I promised the other day," and he held out the packet to her. The old woman was about to examine it, when she raised her eyes and looked straight into those of the visitor who had entered so unceremoniously. She examined him at- tentively, distrustfully, for a minute. RaskolnikofiE fancied there was a gleam of mockery in her look as if she guessed all. He felt he was changing color, and that if She kept her glance upon him much longer without saying a word he would be obliged to run away. " Why are you looking at me thus ? " he said at last in anger. " Will you take it or not ? or shall I take it else- where? I have no time to waste." He did not intend to say this, but the words came out. The tone seemed to quiet her suspicions. "Why were you so impatient, batuchka? What is it?" she asked, glancing at the pledge. " The silver cigarette case of which I spoke the other day." She held out her hand, " But why are you so pale, why 92 Feodor Dostoyevsky do your hands shake? What is the matter with you, hatuchka? " " Fever," replied he abruptly. " You would be pale too if you had nothing to eat." He could hardly speak the words and felt his strength failing. But there was some plausibility in his reply ; and the old woman took the pledge. " What is it ? " slie asked once more, weighing it in her hand and looking straight at her visitor. " Cigarette case, silver, look at it." " It doesn't feel as though it were silver. Oh ! what a dreadful knot!" She began to untie the packet and turned to the light (all the windows were closed in spite of the heat). Her back was turned toward Raskolnikoff, and for a few seconds she paid no further attention to him. He opened his coat, freed the hatchet from the loop, but did not yet take it from its hiding place; he held it with his right hand beneath the garment. His limbs were weak, each moment they grew more numbed and stiflE. He feared his fingers would relax their hold of the hatchet. Then his head turned giddy. " What is this you bring me ? " cried Alena Ivanovna, turning to him in a rage. There was not a moment to lose now. He pulled out the hatchet, raised it with both hands, and let it descend without force, almost mechanically, on the old woman's head. But directly he had struck the blow his strength re- turned. According to her usual habit, Alena Ivanovna was bareheaded. Her scanty gray locks, greasy with oil, were gathered in one thin plait, which was fixed to the back of her neck by means of a piece of horn comb. The hatchet struck her just on the sinciput, and this was partly owing to her small stature. She scarcely uttered a faint cry and collapsed at once all in a heap on the floor; she was dead. The murderer laid his hatchet down and at once began to search the corpse, taking the greatest precaution not to get stained with the blood ; he remembered seeing Alena Ivan- ovna, on the occasion of his last visit, take her keys from the right-hand pocket of her dress. He was in full posses- 93 Russian Mystery Stories • sion of his intellect; he felt neither giddy nor dazed, but his hands continued to shake. Later on, he recollected that he had been very prudent, very attentive, that he had taken every care not to soil himself: It did not take him long to fitid the keys ; the same as the other day, they were all together on a steel ring. Having secured them, Raskol- nikoff at once passed into the bedroom. It was a very small apartment ; on one side was a large glass case full of hdly images, on the other a great bed looking very clean with its quilted-siik patchwork coverlet. The third wall was occupied by a chest of drawers. Strange to say, the young man had no sooner attempted to open them, he had no sooner commenced to try the keys, than a kind of shudder ran through his frame. Again the idea came to him to give up his task and go awaiy, but this weakness only lasted a second : it was now too late to draw back. He was even smiling at having for a moment entertained such a thought, when he was suddenly seized with a terrible anxiety: suppose the old woman were still alive, suppose she recovered consciousness. Leaving at once the keys and the drawers, he hastened to the corpse, seized the hatchet, and prepared to strike another blow at his victim, but he found there was no necessity td do so. Alena Ivanovna was dead beyond all doubt. Leaning over' her again to examine her closer, Raskolnikoff saw that the skull was shattered. He was about to touch her with his fingers, but drew back, as it was quite unnecessary. There was a pool of blood upon the floor. Suddenly noticing a bit of cord round the old woman's neck, the young man gave it a tug, but the gory stufif was strong, and did not break. The murderer then tried to remove it by drawing it down the body. But this second attempt was no more successful than the first, the cord encountered; some ob- stacle and became fixed. Burning with impatience, Raslcol- nikoff brandished the hatchet, ready to strike the corpse and sever the confounded string at the same blow. How- ever, he could not make up his mind to proceed with such brutality. At last, after trying for two minutes, and stain- 94 Feodor Dmtoyevsky ing his hands with blood, he succeeded in severing the cord with the blade of the hatchet without further disfiguring the dead body. As he had'ithagined, there was a purse suspended to the old woman's neck^ Besides this there was also a small enameled medal and two crosses, one of cy- press wood, the other of brass. The greasy purse, a little chamois-leather bag, was as full as it could hold. Raskol- nikofi thrust it in his pocket without examining the con- tents. He then threw the crosses on his victim's breast, and hastily returned to the bedroom, taking the hatchet with him. His impatience was ilow intense; he seized the keys, and again set to work. But all his attempts to open the drawers were unavailing, and this was not so much owing to the shaking of his hands as to his continual misconceptions. He could see, for instance, that a certain key would not fit the lock, and yet he continued to try and insert it. All on a sudden he recalled a conjecture he had formed on the occasion of his preceding visit: the big key with the toothed wards, which was attached to the ring with the smaller ones, probably belonged, not to the drawers, but to some box in which the old woman, no doubt, hoarded up her valuables. Without further troubling about the drawers, he at once looked under the bed, aware that old women are in the habit of hiding their treasures in such places. And there indeed was a trunk with rounded lid, covered with red morocco and studded with steel nails. Raskolnikoff was able to insert the key" in the lock with- out the least difficulty. When he opened the box he per- ceived a hareskin cloak trimmed with red lying on a white sheet; beneath the fur was a silk dress, and then a shawl, the rest of the contents appeared to be nothing but rags. The young man commenced by wiping his blood- stained hands on the red trimming. " It will not show so much on red." Then he suddenly seemed to change his mind : " Heavens ! am I going mad ? " thought he with fright. But scarcely had he touched these clothes than a gold 95 Russian Mystery^ Stories # watch rolled from under the fur. He then overhauled everything in the box. Among the rags were various gold trinkets, which had. all probably been pledged with the old woman: bracelets, chains, earrings, scarf pins, &c. Some were in their cases, while the others were tied up with tape in pieces of newspapei- folded in two. Raskolnikoff did not hesitate, he laid hands on these jewels, and stowed them away in the pockets of his coat and trousers, with- out opening the cases or untying the packets; but he was soon interrupted in his work Footsteps resounded in the other room. He stopped short, frozen with terror. But the noise having ceased, he was already imagining he had been mistaken, when sud- denly he distinctly heard a faint cry, or rather a kind of feeble interrupted moan. At the end of a minute or two, everything was again, as silent as death. Raskolnikoff had -seated himself on the floor beside the trunk and was wait- ing, scarcely daring to breathe; suddenly he bounded up, caught up the hatchet, and rushed from the bedroom. In the center of the apartment, Elizabeth, a huge bundle in her hands, stood gazing in a terror-stricken way at her dead sister ; white as a sheet, she did not seem to have the strength to call out. On the sudden appearance of the murderer, she began to. quake in every limb, and nervous twitches passed over her face ; she tried to raise her arm, to open her mouth, but she was unable to utter the least cry, and, sloWly retreating, her gaze still riveted on Raskol- nikofT, she sought refuge in a corner. The poor woman drew back in perfect silence, as though she had no breath left in her body. The young man rushed upon her, bran- dishing the' hatchet ; the wretched creature's lips assumed, the doleful expression peculiar to quite young children when, beginning to feel frightened of something, they gaze fixedly at the object which has raised their alarm, and are on the point of crying out. Terror had so completely stupefied this unfbrtunate Elizabeth, that, though threat- ened by the hatchet, she did not even think of protecting her face by holding her hands before her head, with that 96 ■ Feodor Dostoyevsky mechanical gesture which the instinct of self-preservation proihpts; on such occasions. She scarcely raised her left arm; and: extended it slowly in the direction of the mur- derer> as thought to keep him off. The hatchet pene- trated her skull, laying it open from the upper part' of the; forehead to the crown. Elizabeth fell down dead. No longer aware of what he did, Raskolnikoff took the bundle from his victim's handj then^ dropped it and ran' to the anteroom. • ' He was more and more terrified, especially after this sec- ond murder, entirely unpremeditated by him. He was in a hurry to be gone ; had he then been in a state to sed things more clearly, had he only beeii able to form an idea! of the difficulties besetting his position, to see how des- perate, how hideous, how absurd it was, to understand how many obstacles there still' remained for him to surmount, perhaps even crimes to commit, to escape from this house and return home, he would most likely have withdrawn from the struggle, and have gone at oftce and gi-ven him- self up to justice; it was not cowardice which would have prompted him to do' so, but the horror of what he had done. This last impression became more and more power- ful ; every minute. Nothing in the world could now have made him return to the trunk, nor even reenter the room in which it lay. Little by little his mind became diverted by other thoughts, and he lapsed into a kind of reverie; at times the murderer seemed to forget his position, or rather the most important part of it, and to concentrate his attention on trifles. After a while, happening to glance in the kitchen, he observed a pail half full of water, stand- ing on a bench, and that gave him the idea of washing his hands and the hatchet. The blood had made his hands sticky. After plunging the blade of the hatchet in the water, be took a small piece of soap which lay on the window sill, and commenced his ablutions. When he had washed his hands, he set to cleaning the iron part of his ■wpapon >" then he devoted three minutes to soaping the «ooden handle, which was also stained with blood. 97 Russian Mystery Stories n After this he wiped it with a cloth which had been hung up to dry on a line stretched across the kitchen. This done, he drew near the window and carefully examined the hatchet for some minutes,! The accusing stains had dis- appeared, but the handle was still damp. Raskolhikoff carefully hid the weapon underr his coat by replacing it in the loop; after which, he minutely inspected his clothes, that is to say so far as the^ dim light of the kitchen al- lowed him to do so. He saw nothing suspicious about the coat and trousers, but there were bloodstains on the hoots. He removed them with; the aid of a damp rag. But these precautions only half reassured him, for he knew that he could not see properly arid, that certain stains had very likely escaped him. He stood irresolute in the middle of the room, a prey to a somber, agonizing thought, the thought that he was going mad, that at that moment he was not in a fit state to come to a determination and to watch over his security, that his way of going to work was probably not the one the circumstances demanded. " Good heavens! I ought to go, to go away at once!" murmured he, anil he rushed to the anteroom,, where the greatest terror he hafi yet experienced aw«iited him. ' . He stood stock-still, not daring to believe his eyes: the door of the lodging, the outer door which opened, on to the, landing, the same one at which he ,^had rung a little: while before and by, which he had entered, was:open; up till then it liiad remained, ajar, the old woman had no doubt omitted to close it by way cJ precaution; it had been neither locked nor, bolted! But he had seen Elizabeth after that. How was it that it had not occurred to hito that she had come in by wayof tjbe-door? She could not have entered the lodging through the wall. He shut the door and bolted ijt. ; " But no, that is not what I should do? I must go aw,ay, go away.", He drew back the bolt and, after opening the door againv stood Hsteniiig on the landing. . , ! : , . He; stood thus .1 Ipn.':^. while.: Down below, probably at the street door,, two noisy voices were vociferating insults. 98;... Feodor Dosioyevsky " Who can those people be ? " He waited patiently. At last the noise ceased, the brawlers had taken their de- parture. The young man was about to do the same, when a door on the floor immediately below was noisily opened and some one went downstairs, humming a tune. " What- ever are they all up to ? " wondered Raskolnikoff , and closing the door again he waited a while. At length all became silent as before ; but just as he was preparing to go down, he suddenly became aware of a fresh sound, foot- steps as yet far off, at the bottom of the staircase; and he no sooner heard them than he guessed the truth: — some one was coming there, to the old woman's on the fourth floor. Whence came this presentiment? What was there so particularly significant in the sound of these footsteps? They were heavy, regular, and rather slow than hurried. He has now reached the first floor, he still continues to ascend. The soUnd is becoming plainer and plainer. He pants as though with asthma at each step he takes. He has commenced the third flight. He wiH soon be on the fourth ! And Raskolnikoff felt suddenly seized as with a general paralysis, the same as happens when a person has the nightmare and fancies himself pursued by enemies ; they are on the point of catchirtg him, they will kill him, and yet he remains spellbound, unable to move a limb. The stranger was now ascending the fourth flight. Raskolnikoff, who until then had been riveted to the land- ing with fright, was at length able to shake off his torpor, and hastily reentered the apartment, closing the door be- hind him. ' Then he bolted it, being careful to make as little noise as possible. Instinct rather than reason prompted him to do this. When he had finished, he re- mained close to the door, listening, scarcely daring to breathe. • The visitor was now on the landing. Only the thickness of the door separated the two men. The un- known was in the same position toward Raskolnikoff as the latter had been a little while before toward the old woman. The visitor stood panting for some little time. 99 Russian Mystery Stories • " He must be stout and big," thought the young man as he clasped the hatchet firmly in his hand. It was all like a dream to him. The visitor gave a violent pull at the bell. He immediately fancied he heai-d something move inside. He listened attentively during a few seconds, then he gave another ring and again waited; suddenly losing patience, he began to shake the door handle with all his might. Raskolnikoflf watched with terror the bolt trem- bling in the socket, expecting to see it shoot back at any moment, so violent were the jerks given to the door. It occurred to him to hold the bolt in its place with his hand, but the man might have found it out. His head was turn- ing quite dizzy again. "I shall betray myself!" thought he; but he suddenly recovered his presence of mind as the unknown broke the silence. " Are they both asleep, or has some one strangled them ? The thrice-confounded creatures 1 " growled the visitor in a guttural voice. " Hi ! Alena Ivanovna, you old sorceress ! Elizabeth Ivanovna, you indescribable beauty ! — open ! Oh ! the witches ! can they be asleep ? " In his exasperation he rang ten times running, and as loud as he possibly could. This man was evidently not a stranger there, and was in the habit of being obeyed. At the same moment some light and rapid footsteps resounded on the staircase. It was another person coming to the fourth floor. RaskolnikofF was not at first aware of the newcomer's arrival. " Is it possible that there's no one at home ? " said the latter in eL loud and hearty tone of voice, addressing the first visitor who was still tugging at the bell pull. " Good day, Koch ! " " Judging by his voice, he must be quite a young man," immediately thought Raskolnikofi. " The devil only knows ! I've almost smashed the lock," replied Koch. " But how is it you know me ? " " What a question ! The day before yesterday I played you at billiards, at Gambrinus's, and won three games right off." loo Feodor Dostoyevsky "Ah!" " So they're not at home ? That's strange. I might al- most say it's ridiculous. Where can the old woman have gone ? I want to speak with her." " And I too, batuchka, I want to speak with her." " Well, what's to be done ? I suppose we must go back to whence we came. I wanted to borrow some money of her ! " exclaimed the young man. " Of course we must go back again ; but why then did she make an appointment ? She herself, the old witch, told me to come at this hour. And, it's a long way to where I live. Where the deuce can she be? I don't. understand it. She never stirs from one year's end to the other, the old witch; she quite rots in the place, her legs have al- ways got something the matter with them, and now all on a sudden she goes gallivanting about ! " "Suppose we question the porter?" "What for?" " To find out where she's gone and when she will be back." "Hum! — the deuce! — question! — but she never goes anywhere." And he again tugged at the door handle. " The devil take her ! there's nothing to be done but to go." " Wait ! " suddenly exclaimed the young man, " look ! — do you notice how the door resists when we pull it? " "Well, what then?" " Why, that shows that it's not locked, but bolted ! Hark how it clinks ! " '"Well?" " Don't you understand ? That shows that one of them must be at home. If both were out, they would have locked the door after them, and not have bolted it inside. Listen, don't you hear the noise it makes? Well, to bolt one's door, one must be at home, you understand. There- fore it follows that they are at home, only for some reason or other they don't open the door ! " " Why, yes, you're right ! " exclaimed the astonished lOI Russian Mystery Stories ^ Koch. "So they're there, are they?" And he again shook the door violently. "Stay!" resumed the young man, " don't pull like; that. There's something peculiar about this. You've rung, you've pulled at the door with all your might, and they haven't answered you ; therefore, they've either both fainted away, or " "What?" " This is what we had better do : have the porter up, so that he may find out what's the matter." " That's not a bad idea! " They both started downstairs, "Stop! you stay here; I'll fetch the porter." "Why stay here?" " Well, one never knows what might happen-^ " " All right." " You see, I might also pass for an examining magis- trate! There's something very peculiar about all this, that's evident, e-vi-dent!" said the young, man excitedly, and he hastily made his way down the stairs. Left alone, Koch rang again, but gently this time ; then, with a thoughtful air, he began to play with the door han- dle, turning it first one way^ then the other, so as to make sure the door was only bolted. After this, with a great deal of puffing and blowings he stooped down to look through the keyhole, but the key was in the lock, and turned in such a way that one could not see through. Standing up on the other side of the door, Raskolnikoff still held the hatchet in his hands. He was almost in a state of delirium and was preparing to attack the two men the moment they forced an entrance. More than once, on hearing them knocking and planning together, he had felt inclined to put an end to the matter there and then by calling out to them. At times he experienced a desire to abuse and defy them, while awaiting their irruption. " The sooner it's over the better ! " he kept thinking. " The devil take them ! " The time passed ; still no one IDS Feodor Ditstoyevsky came. Kofch was beginning to lose patience. " The devil take them ! " he muttered again, and, tired of waiting, he rehnquished his watch to go and find the young man. By degrees the sound of his heavy boots echoing on the stairs ceased to be heard. " Heavens! What shall I do? " Raskolnikoff drew back the bolt and opened the door a few inches. Reassured by the silence which reigned in the house, and, moreover, scarcely in a fit state at the time to reflect on what he did, he went out on to the landing, shut the door behind him as securely as he could and turned to go downstairs. He had already descended sev- eral steps when suddenly a great uproc- arose from one of the floors below. Where could he hide ? Concealment was impossible, so he hastened upstairs again. " Hi there ! hang it ! stop ! " He who uttered these cries had just burst out of one of the lodgings, and was rushing down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him, yelling the while : " Dmitri ! Dmitri ! Dmitri ! May the devil take the fool 1 " The rest died away in the distance; the man who was uttering these cries had already left the house far behind. All was once more silent ; but scarcely was this alarm over than a fresh one succeeded it: several individuals ' talking together in a loud tone of voice were noisily coming up the .stairs. There were three or four of them. Raskolnikoff recognized the young man's sonorous accents. " It is they ! " No longer hoping to escape them, he advanced boldly to meet them: "Let happen what will!" said he to himself : " if they stop me, all is over ; if they let me pass, all is over just the same: they will remember pass- ing me on the stairs." They were about to encounter him, only one flight separated them — when suddenly he felt himself saved ! A few steps from him, to the right, there was an empty lodging with the dQor wide open, it was that same one on the second floor where he had seen the painters working, but, by a happy chance, they had just left it. It was they, no doubt, who » few minutes before 103 Russian Mystery Stories • had gone off, uttering those shouts. The paint on the floors was quite fresh, the workmen had left their things in the middle of the room: a small tub, some paint in an earthenware crock, and a big brush. In the twinkling of an eye, Raskolnikoff glided into the deserted apartment and hid himself as best he could up against the wall. It was none too soon : his pursuers were already on the landing ; they did not stop there, however, but went on up to the fourth floor, talking loudly among themselves. After waiting till they had got some distance off, he left the room on tiptoe and hurried down as fast as his legs would carry him. No one on the stairs! No one either at the street door ! He stepped briskly outside, and, once in the street, turned to the left. He knew very well, he knew without a doubt, that they who were seeking him were at that moment in the old woman's lodging, and were amazed to find that the door, which a little while before had been shut so securely, was now open. " They're examining the corpses," thought he ; " it won't take them a minute to come to the conclusion that the murderer managed to hide himself from them as they went up the stairs; perhaps they may even have a suspicion that he stowed himself away in the empty lodg- ing on the second floor while they were hurrying to the upper part of the house." But, in spite of these reflections, he did not dare to increase his pace, though he still had a hundred steps or so to go before reaching the first turn- ing. " Suppose I slipped into some doorway, in some out- of-the-way street, and waited there a few minutes? No, that would never do! I might throw my hatchet away somewhere? or take a cab? No good ! no good ! " At last he reached a narrow lane; he entered it more dead than alive. There, he was almost in safety, and he knew it: in such a place, suspicion could hardly be fixed upon him; while, on the other hand, it was easier for him to avoid notice by mingling with the crowd. But all these agonizing events had so enfeebled him that he could scarcely keep on his legs. Great drops of perspiration 104 Feodor Dostoyevsky streamed down his face ; his neck was quite wet. " I think you've had, your fill!" shouted some one who took him for a drunken man as he reached the canal bank. He no longer knew what he was doing; the farther he went, the more obscure became his ideas. However, when he found himself on the quay, he became frightened at seeing so few people there, and, fearing that he might be noticed on so deserted a spot, he returned. to the lane. Though he had hardly the strength to put one leg before the other, he nevertheless took the longest way to reach his home. He had scarcely recovered his presence of mind even when he crossed the threshold; at least the thought of the hatchet never came to him until he was on the stairs. Yet the question he had to solve was a most serious one: it consisted in returning the hatchet to the place he had taken it from, and in doing so without at- tracting the least attention. Had he been more capable of considering his position, he would certainly have under- stood that, instead of replacing the hatchet, it would be far safer to get rid of it by throwing it into the yard of some other house. ■Nevertheless he met with no mishap. The door of the porter's lodge was closed, though not locked ; to all ap- pearance, therefore, the porter was at home. But Raskol- nikoff had so thoroughly lost all faculty of preparing any kind of plan, that he walked straight to the door and opened it. If the porter had asked him : " What do you want ? " perhaps he would simply have handed him the hatchet. But, the same as on the previous occasion, the porter was absent, and this gave the young man every facility to replace the hatchet under the bench, exactly where he had found it. Then he went upstairs and reached his room without meeting a soul; the door of his land- lady's apartments was shut. Once home again, he threw himself on his couch just as he was. He did not sleep, but lay in a sort of semiconsciousness. If anybody had then appeared before him, he would have sprung up and 105 . Russian Mystery Stories |^ cried out. His head was swimming with a host of vague thoughts: do what he could, he was unable to follow the thread of one of them. Raskolnikoff lay on the couch a very long while. At times he seemed to rouse from this half sleep, and then he noticed that the night was very far advanced, but still it never entered his head to rise. Soon it began to brighten into day, and the dawn found hirri in a state of stupefaction, lying motionless on his back. A desperate clamor, and sounds of brawls from the streets below, rose to his ears. These awakened him thoroughly, although he heard them every morning early at the same hour. " Ah ! two o'clock, drinking is over," and he started up as though some one had pulled him off the couch. "What! two o'clock already.""' He sat on the edge of the couch and then recollected every- thing, in an instant it all came back ! At first he thought he was going out of his mind, a strange chill peryaded his frame, but the cold arose from the fever which had seized upon him during his sleep. He shivered until his teeth chattered, and all his limbs fairly shook. He went to the door, opened it, and listened; all was silent in the house. With astonishment he turned and looked round the room. How could he have come home the night before, not bolted the door, and thrown hiirtself on' the couch just as he was, not only not undressed, but with his hat on? There it lay in the middle of the floor where it had rollfed. " If anyone came in, what would he think? That I am drunk, of J course." } He went to the window — it was pretty light — and looked himself all over from head to foot, to see if there were any stains on his clothes. But he could not rely upon that sort of inspection ; so, still shivering, he undressed and examined his clothes again, looking everywhere with the greatest care. To make quite sure, he went over them three times. He discovered nothing but a few drops of clotted blood on the ends of his trousers which were very much frayed. lie took a big clasp-knife and cut off the frayed edges. lo6 Feodor Dostoyevsky Suddenly he remembered that the purse and the things he had abstracted from the old woman's chest, were still in his pockets! He had never thought of taking them out and hiding theml indeed, it had never crossed his mind that they were in his pockets while examining liis clothes ! Was it possible? In a second he emptied all out on to the table in a heap. Then, turning his pockets inside out to maice sure there was nothing left in them, he carried the things to a corner of the room. Just there, the paper was hanging loose from the wall ; he bent down and corrimenced to stuff all the things into a hole behind the paper. " There, it's all out of sight ! " thought he gleefully; as he stood gazing stupidly at the spot where the paper bulged out more than ever. Suddenly he began to shudder from terror. " Good heavens ! " murmured he in despair, " what is the matter with me ? Is that hidden ? Is that the way to hide anything?" Indeed, he had not reckoned on such spoil, he had only thought of taking the old woman's money ; so he was not prepared with a hiding place for the jewels. " I have no cause to rejoice now," thought he. " Is that the way to hide anything? I must really be losing my senses! " He sunk on the couch again exhausted; another fit of intolerable shivering seized him, and he mechanically pulled his old, student's cloak over him. for warmth, as he fell into a de- lirious sleep. He lost all consciousness of himself. Not more than five minutes, had elapsed before he woke up in. intense excitement, and bent over his clothes in the deepest anguish. " How could I go to sleep again when nothing is done ! For I have done nothing, the loop is still where I sewed it. I forgot all about that ! What a convincing proof it would have been." He ripped it off and tore it into shreds which he placed among his underlinen under; the pillow. " These rags cannot awaken any suspicions, I fancy ;■. at least, so it seems to me," repeated, he, standing up in the middle of the room, and, with an attempt rendered all the more painful by the effort it cost him, he looked all round,, trying to make sure he had forgotten nothing. He suf- 107 Russian Mystery Stories • fered cruelly from this conviction, that everything, even memory, even the most elementary prudence, was aban- doning him. " Can this be the punishment already beginning? In- deed! indeed!, it is! " And indeed the frayed edges he had cut from the bottom of his trousers were lying on the floor, in the middle of the room, exposed to the view of the first comer. " But what can I be thinking of ? " exclaimed he in utter bewilder- ment. Then a strange idea came into his head ; he thought that perhaps all his clothes were saturated in blood, and that he could not see this because his senses were gone and his perception of' things lost. Then he recollected that there, would be traces on the purse, and his pockets would be wet with blood. It was so. " I am bereft of my reason, I know not what I am doing. Bah ! not at all ! — it is only weakness, delirium. I shall soon be better." He tore at the lining. At this moment the rays of the morning streained in and shone on his left boot. There were plain traces, and all the point was covered. " I must have stepped in that pool. What shall I do now? Boot, lining, rags, where shall they go? " He rolled them up and stood think- ing in the middle of the room. " Ah, the stove. Yes, burn them. No, I cannot, I have no match. Better throw them away. Yes, yes, that is the thing," said he, again sitting on the couch. " At once, iand without delay too; quick." But, instead, his head fell back upon the pillow, and chilly shiverings again came over him. He covered himself with his cloak and slept again. It appeared hours to him, and many a time in his sleep he fried to rise to hasten to throw aiVay his bundle, but he could not, he seemed chained to the bed. At last he awoke, as he heard a loud knock at his door. " Eh, open, will you ? " cried Nastasia. " Don't lie there like a dog. It's eleven o'clock." " Perhaps he is not in," said a man's voice. "The porter's voice. What does he want?" Raskol- nikoff rose, and sat on the couch listening. His heart throbbed violently. io8 Feodor Dasteyevsky " Who has bolted the door then? " exclaimed the servant. "Open, will you?" " All must be discovered ? " He rose a little and undid the bolt, and fell back again on his bed. There stood the porter and Nastasia. The servant looked strangely at Ras- kolnikoff, while he fixed a despairing glance upon the porter. " Here is a notice for you from the office," said the latter. '"What office?" " The police office." "What for?" " I don't know. You are summoned there, go." The porter looked anxiously at the lodger, and turned to leave. Raskolnikoff made no observationj and held the paper un- opened in his hand. " There, stay where you are," said Nastasia, seeing him fall back on the couch. " If you are ill, do not go. Wb^t is that in your hand ? " He looked down; in, his right hand were clutched the pieces of frayed cloth, his boot, and the lining of his pocket. He had evidently fallen asleep with them as they were; indeed he recollected how, thinking deeply about them, he had dozed away. " The idea of taking a lot of rags to bed and hugging them to you like a treasure ! " laughed the servant in her sickly manner. In a second he hid all under his coat and looked at her attentively. Although little was capable of passing in his mind, he felt she would not talk thus to a man under arrest for a crime. But then, the police? " Is there anything you want ? You stay here, I will bring it." " No, I will go. I am going at once," murmured he, ris- ing to his feet " Very well." She went out after the porter. As soon as she had , dis- appeared, he rushed to the light to look at his boot. Yes, there were spots, but not very plain, all covered with mud. But who would distinguish them? Nastasia could know 109 Russian Mystery Stories m nothing, thank heavens ! Then with trembling hand he tore open the notice, and began to read. At last he understood ; it was simply the usual notice to report himself at the office of the district that day at half-past nine o'clock. " But why to-day ? " cried he. " Lord, let it be over soon." He was about to fall down on his knees to pray, when a fit of laughter seized him. " I must trust to myself, not to prayers." He quickly dressed himself. " Shall I put the boot on ? " he thought, " better throw it awsty, and hide all traces of it." Nevertheless he put it on, only, however, to throw it off again with an expression of horror. As, however, he recollected he had no other, a smile came to his face, and he drew it on once mdre. Again his face changed into deep despair, his limbs shook more and more. " This is not from exertion," thought ' he, " it is fear." His head spun round and round and his temples throbbed visibly. On the stairs he recollected that all the things were in the hole in the wall, and then where was his certificate of birth ? He stopped to think. But such despair, and, if it may be so called, cynicism, took hold of him, that he simply shook his head and went out. The sooner over, the better. Once again in the open air, he encountered the same itisufferable heat, the dust, and the people in drink rolling about the streets. The sun caught him full in the eyes and almost blinded him, while his head spun round and round; as is usual in fever. On reaching the turning into the street he' had taken the day before, he glanced in great agitation in the direction of the house, but immediately averted his eyes again, " If they ask me, I should confess, perhaps," said he to himself, as he turned away and made for the office. This was not far distant, in a new house, on the fourth floor. As he entered the court, he saw to the right of him a staircase, ascending which was a man carrying some books. " It was evidently there." He did not think of asking. " I will go and fall on my knees and confess all," he mur- mured, a!nd began to ascend the narrow and very steep no Feodor Dostoyevsky stairs. On every floor the doors of the kitchens of the sev- eral apartments stood open to the staircase, and emitted a suffocating, sickening odor. The entrance to the office he was in search of was also wide open, and he walked in. A number of persons were waiting in the anteroom. The stench was simply intolerable, and was intensified by the smell of fresh pajnt. Pausing a little, he decided to ad- vance farther into the small low room. He became impa- tient when he found no one took any notice of him. In an inner room were seated a number of clerks engaged in writing. He went up to one of these. "What do you want?" Raskolnikbff showed him the notice. " You are a student ? " asked a clerk, glancing at the notice. " Yes ; — that is, I used to be." The clerk glanced at him — ^without, however, any par- ticular curiosity. He was a man with unkempt hair and an expressionless face. "There is nothing to be learned from him, evidently," thought Raskolnikoff. " Step in there to the head clerk," s^id the man, pointing to a farther room, which was quite full of people, among whom were two ladies. The assistant district officer, a man adorned with red whiskers standing out on either side of his face, and with extremely small features, looked up impatiently at Raskol- nikoff, whbse filthy attire was by no means prepossessing. The latter returned his glance calmly and straight in the face, and in such a manner as to give the officer offense. " What do you want here ? " he cried, apparently sur- prised that such a ragged beggar was not knocked down by his thunder-bearing glance. " I am here because I was summoned," stammered Ras- kolnikoff. "It is for the recovery of money lent," said the head clerk. "Herel" and he threw a paper to Raskolnikoff, "Read!" Ill Russian Mystery Stories "Money? What money? It cannot be that," thought the young man, and he trembled with joy. Everything be- came clear, and the load fell off his shoulders. " At what hour did you receive this, sir? " cried the lieu- tenant; "you were told to come at nine o'clock, and now it is nearly twelve ! " " I received it a quarter of an hour ago," loudly replied Raskolnikoff, over his shoulder, suddenly angered, " and it is sufficient to say that I am ill with a fever." "Please not to bawl!" " I did not bawl, but spoke plainly ; it is you that bawl. I am a student, and am not going to have you speak to me in that fashion." The officer became enraged, and fumed so that only splut- ters flew out of his mouth. He jumped up from his, place. " Please keep silence. You are in court. Don't be in- solent." " And so are you in court ; and, besides bawling, you are smoking, so you are wanting in politeness to the whole com- pany." As he said this, Raskolnikoff felt an inexpressible delight at his maliciousness. The clerk looked up with a smile. The choleric officer was clearly nonplused. " That is not your business, sir," he cried at last, unnatu- rally loud. " Make the necessary declaration. Show him, Alexander Gregorivitch. Complaints have been made about you! You don't pay your debts ! You know how to fly the kite evidently ! " Raskolnikoff did not listen, but greedily seized the paper. He read it through more than once, and could make nothing of it. " What is this ? " he asked of the clerk. , " It is a writ for recovery on a note of hand of y.ours. Please write," said the, clerk. " Write what ? " asked he rudely. "As I dictate." The clerk stood near and dictated to him the usual form of declaration : that he was unable to pay, that he would not quit the capital^ dispose of his goods in any way, etc., etc. " You cannot write, your pen is falling from your fin- 112 Feodor Dostoyevsky gers," said the clerk, and he looked him in the face. " Are you ill?" " Yes, my head swims. Go on." " That is all. Now sign it." Raskolnikoif let fall the pen, and seemed as if about to, rise and go ; but, instead of doing so, he laid both elbows on the table and supported his head with his hands. A new idea formed in his mind : to rise immediately, go straight to Nicodemus Thomich the ward officer and tell him all that had occurred ; then to accompany him to his room, and show him all the things hidden away in the wall behind the paper. His desire to do all this was of such strength that he got up from the table to carry his design into execution. " Reflect, reflect a moment ! " ran in his head. " No, better not think, get it off my shoulders." Suddenly he stood still as if shot. Nicodemus Thomich was at this moment hotly discussing something with Elia Petrovitch, the inspector of police, and the words caught Raskolnikoff's anxious atten- tion. He listened. " It cannot be, they will both be released. In the first place, all is contradictory. Consider. Why did they call the porter if it were their work? To denounce themselves? Or out of cunning? Not at aU, that would be too much! Besides, did not the porter see the student Pestriakofif at the very gate just as he came in, and he stood there some time with three friends who had accompanied him. And Koch : was he not below in the silversmith's for half an hour before he went up to the old woman's? Now, consider." " But see what contradictions arise ! They say they knocked and found the door closed ; yet three minutes after, when they went back with the porter, it was open." " That's true. The murderer was inside, and had bolted the door, and certainly he would have been captured had not Koch foolishly run off to the porter. In the interval he, no doubt, had time to escape downstairs. Koch explains that, if he had remained, the man would have leaped out and killed him. He wanted to have a Te Deum sung. Ha, ha ! " " Did nobody see the murderer ? " "3 Russian Mystery Stories 41 " How could they ? The house is a perfect Noah's ark," put in the clerk, who had been listening. " The thing is clear, very clear," said Nicodemus Tho- mich decisively, " Not at all ! Not at all ! " cried Elia Petrovitch, in reply. Raskolnikoff took up his hat and made for the door, but he never reached it. When he came to himself he found he was sitting on a chair, supported on the right by some un- known man, while to his left stood another, holding some yellow water in a yellow glass. Nicodemus Thomich, stand- ing before hirn, was looking at him fixedly. Raskolnikoff rose. "What is it? Are you ill?" asked the officer sharply. " He could hardly hold the pen to- sign his name," the clerk explained, at the same time going back to his books. " Have you been ill very long ? " cried Elia Petrovitch from his table ; he had run to see the swoon and returned to bis place. " Since yesterday," murmured Raskolnikoff in reply. " You went out yesterday ? " "I did." "111?" "111!" "At what time?" " Eight o'clock in the evening." " Where did you go, allow me to ask? " " In the streets." " Concise and clear." Raskolnikoff had replied sharply, in a broken voice, his face as pale as a handkerchief, and with his black swollen eyes averted from Elia Petrovitch 's scrutinizing glance. " He can hardly stand on his legs. Do you want to ask anything more ? " said Nicodemus Thomich. "Nothing," replied Elia Petrovitch. Nicodemus Thomich evidently wished to say more, but, turning to the clerk, who in turn glanced expressively at ■him, the latter became silent, all suddenly stopped speaking. It was strange. 114 Feodo'r Do-stoyevsky Raskolnikoff went out. As he dfescended the stairs he could hear an animated discussion had broken out, and above all, the interrogative voice of Nicodemus Thomich. In the street he came to himself. "Search, search! they are going to search!" he cried. " The scoundrels, they suspect me ! " The old dread seized him again, from head to foot. Here was the room. All was quiet, and no one had, apparently, disturbed it-: — not even Nastasia. But, heavens ! how could he have left all those things where they were? He rushed to the corner, pushed his hands behind the paper, took out the things, and thrust them in his pockets. There were eight articles in all: two little boxes with ear- rings or something of that description, then four )ittle mo- rocco cases; a chain wrapped up ih paper, and something else done up in a common piece of newspaper — possibly a decoration. Raskolnikoff distributed these, together with the purse, about his person, in order to make them less noticeable, and quitted the room again. All the time he had left the door wide open. He went away hurriedly, fearing pursuit. Perhaps in a few minutes orders would be issued to hunt him down, so he must hide all traces of his theft at once ; and he would do so while he had strength and reason left him. But where should he go? This had been long decided. Throw the lot in the canal and the matter would be at an end 1 So he had resolved in that night of delirium, when he cried out, " Quick, quick! throw all away ! " But this was not so easy. He wandered to the quays of the Catherine Canal, and lingered there for half an hoUr. Here a washing raft lay where be had thought of sinking his spoil, or there boats were moored, and every- where people swarmed. Then, again, would the cases sink ? Would they not rather float ? No, this would not do. He would go to the Neva; there would be fewer people there and more room, and it would be more convenient. He rec- ognized that he had been wandering about for fully half an hour, and in dangerous places. He' rriust make haste. He made his way to the river, but soon came to another Russian Mystery. Stories • standstill. Why in the Neva? Why in the water at all? Better some solitary place in a wood, or under some bushes. Dig a hole and bury, them! He felt he was not in a con- dition to deliberate clearly and soundly, but this idea ap- peared the best. This idea also, however, was not destined to be realized, and another took its place. As he passed the V Pros- pect, he suddenly noticed on the left an entrance into a court, which was surrounded entirely by high walls. On the right, a long way up the court, rose the side of a huge four-storied building. To the left, parallel with the walls of the house, and commencing immediately at the gate, there ran a wooden hoarding of about twenty paces down the court. Then came a space where a lot,of rubbish was deposited;' while farther down, at the bottom of the court, was a shed, apparently part of some workshop, possib'.y that of a carpenter or coach builder. Everything appeared as black as coal dust. Here was the very place, he thought; and, after looking round, went up the court. Behind the door he espied a large unworked stone, weighing about fifty pounds, which lay close up against the hoarding. No one could see him where he stood; he was entirely free from observation. He bent down to the stone, managed to turn it over after considerable effort, and found under- neath a small cavity. He threw in the cases, and then the purse on the top of all. The stone was not per- ceptibly higher when he had replaced it, and little traces of its having been moved could be noticed. So he pressed some earth against the edges with his foot, and made off. He laughed for joy when again in the street. All traces were gone, and who would think of looking there? And if they jvere found who would suspect him? All proofs were gone, and he laughed again. Yes, he recollected aft- erwards how he laughed — a long, nervous, lingering laugh, lasting all the time he was in that street. He reached home toward evening, perhaps at about eight o'clock — how, and by what particular way he never recol- ii6 Feodor Dostoyevsky lected — but, speedily undressing, he lay down on the couch, trembling like a beaten horse, and, drawing his overcoat over him, he fell immediately into a dfeep sleep. He awoke in a high fever and delirious. Some days later he came to himself, rose and went out. It was eight o'clock, and the sun had disappeared; The heat was as intolerable as before, but he inhaled the dusty, fetid, infected town air with greed- iness. And now his head began to spin round, and a wild expression of energy crept into his inflamed eyes and pale, meager, wan face. He did not know, did not even think, what he was going to do; he only knew that all was to be finished " to-day," at one blow, immediately, or he would never return home, because he had no desire to live thus. How to finish ? By what means i No matter how, and he did not want to think. He drove away any thoughts which disturbed him, and only clung to the necessity of ending all, " no matter how," said he, with desperate self-confidence and decision. By force of habit he took his old walk, and set out in the direction of the Haymarket. Farther on, he came on a young man who was grinding some veiy feeling ballads upon a barrel organ. Near the man, on the foot- path, was a young girl of about fifteen years of age, fashion- ably dressed, with crinoline, mantle, and gloves, and a straw hat trimmed with gaudy feathers, but all old and terribly worn out, who, in a loud and cracked though not altogether unpleasing voice, was singing before a shop in expectation of a couple of kopecks. Raskolnikoff stopped and joined one or two listeners, took out a five-kopeck piece, and gave it to the girl. The latter at once stopped on a very high note which she had just reached, and cried to the man, " Come along," and both immediately moved on to anbther place. " Do you like street music ? " said Raskolnikofif to a mid- dle-aged man standing near him. The latter looked at him in surprise, but smiled. " I love it," continued Raskolni- koff, " especially when they sing to the organ on a cold, dark, gray winter's evening, when all the passers-by seem to have pale, green, sickly-looking faces— ^when the snow 117 Russian Mystery Stories IS falling like a sleet, straight down and with no wind, you know, and while the lamps shine on it all." "I don't know. Excuse me," said the man, frightened at the question and Raskolnikoff's strange appearance, and hastily withdrawing to the other side of the street. Raskolnikoff went on, and came to the place in the Hay- market where he had met the trader and his wife and Eliza- beth. No one was there at the moment. He stopped, and turned to a young fellow, in a red shirt, who was gaping at the entrance to a flour shop. " A man trades here at this corner, with his wife, eh? " " Everyone trades here," replied the lad, scanning his questioner from head to foot. "What is he called?" "What he was christened." " But you belong to Zaraisk, don't you ? To what Gov- ernment ? " The boy stared at Raskolnikoff. " We have no gover- nor, your highness, but districts. I stay at home, and know nothing about it, but my brother does ; so pardon me, your most mighty highness." " Is that an eating house there?" " That's, a dram shop; they have a billiard table." " There are newspapers here? " asked he, as he entered a room—one of a suite — ^rather empty. Two or three per- sons sat with tea before them, while in a farther room a group of men were seated, drinking champagne. Ras- kolnikoff thought he recognized Zametoff among them, but he could not be sure. " Never mind, if it is ! " he mut- tered. " Brandy* sir? " asked the waiter. "No, tea; and bring me some newspapers — ^for about the last five days., I'll give you a drink." The' papers and the tea appeared. Raskolnikoff sat and searched, and, at last, found what he wanted. " Ah, here it is ! " he cried, as he began to read. The words danced before his eyes, but he read greedily to the end, and turned to others for later intelligence. His hands trembled with ii8 Fe'odor Dostoyevsky impatience, and the sheets shook again. Suddenly some one sat down near him. He locked Up, and there was Zametoff — that same Zametoff, with his rings and chain, his oiled locks and fancy waistcoat and unclean linen. He seemed pleased, and his tanned face, a little inflamed by the champagne, wore a smile. "Ah! you here?" he commenced, in a tone as if he had known Raskolnikoff for an age. " Why Razoumikhin told me yesterday that you were lying unconscious. How strange! Then I was at your place " Raskolnikofif laid down the paper and turned to Zame- toff. On his lips was a slight provoking smile. " I know you were," he replied, " I heard so. You searched for my boot. To what agreeable places you resort. Who gives you champagne to drink? " " We were drinking together. What do you mean ? " " Nothing, dear boy, nothing," said RaskolnikofiE, with a smile and slapping Zametoff on the shoulders. " I am not in earnest, but simply in fun, as your workman said, when he wrestled with Dmitri, you know, in that murder case." " Do you know about that?" " Yes, and perhaps more than you do." " You are very peculiar. It is a pity you came out. You are ill." "Do I seem strange?" " Yes; what are you reading?" " The paper." " There are a number of fires." " I am not reading about them." He looked curiously at Zametoff, and a malicious smile distorted his lips. " No, fires are not in my line," he addied, winking at Zametoff. " Now, I should like to knOs^, sweet youth, what it signifies to you what I read? " " Nothing at all. I only asked. Perhaps I " " Listen. You are a cultivated man — a Kterary man, are you not?" " I was in the sixth class at college," Zametoff answered, with a certain amount of dignity. 119 Russian Mystery ^i tones "The sixth! Oh, my fine fellow! With rings and a chain — a rich man! You are a dear boy," and Raskolni- koff gave a short, nervous laugh, right in the face of Zame- tofif. The latter was very much taken aback, and, if not oflEended, seemed a good deal surprised. " How strange you are! " said Zametoff seriously. " You have the fever still on you; you are raving! " "Am I, my fine fellow — am I strange? Yes, but I am very interesting to you, am I not? '' "Interesting?" " Yes. You ask. me what I am reading, what I am look- ing for; then I am looking through a number of papers. Suspicious, isn't it ? Well, I will explain to you, or rather confess; — no, nqt that exactly. I will give testimony, and you shall take it down — that's it. So then, I swear that I was reading, and came here on purpose " — Raskolnikofif blinked his eyes and paused-^" to read an account of the murder of the old woman." He finished almost in a whis- per, eagerly watching Zametofif's face. The latter returned his glances without flinching. And it appeared strange to Zametoff that a full minute seemed to pass as they kept fixedly staring at each other in this manner. " Oh, so that's what you have been reading? " Zametoff at last cried impatiently. " What is there in that? " " She is the same woman," continued Raskolnikofif, still in a whisper, and taking no notice of Zametoff's remark, " the very same woman you were talking about when I swooned in your office. You recoUect-^you surely recol- lect?" " Recollect what? " said Zametoff, almost alarmed. The serious expression on Raskolnikoff's face altered in an instant, and he again commenced his nervous laugh, and laughed as if he were quite unable to contain himself. There had recurred to his mind, with fearful clearness, the moment when he stood at the door with the hatchet in his hand. There he was, holding the bolt, and they were tug" ging and thumping away at the door.: Oh, how he itched to shriek at them, open the door, thrust out his tongue at 1 20 Feodor Dostoyevsky them, and frighten them away, and then laugh, "Ah, ah, ah, ah!" " You are insane, or else — " said Zametoff, and then paused as if a new thought had suddenly struck him. "Orwhat, or what?' Now what? Tell me!" " Nonsense ! " said Zametoff to himself, " it can't be." Both became silent. After this unexpected and fitful out- burst of laughter, Raskolnikoff had become lost in thought and looked very sad. He leaned on the table with his el- bows, buried his head in his hands, and seemed to have quite forgotten Zataetoflf. The silence continued a long time. " You do not drink your tea ; it is getting cold," said the latter, at last. "What? Tea? Yes!" Raskolnikoff snatched at his glass, put a piece of bread in his mouth, and then, after looking at Zametoff, seemingly recollected and roused him- self. His face at once resumed its previous smile, and he continued to sip his tea. " What a number of rogues there are about," Zametoff said. " I read not long ago, in the Moscow papers, that they had Captured a whole gang of forgers in that city. Quite a colony." " That's old news. I read it a month ago," replied Ras- kolnikoff in a careless manner. " And you call such as these rogues ? " he -added, smiling. "Why not?" "Rogues indeed! Why, they are only children and babies. Fifty banded together for such purposes ! Is it pos- sible? Three would be quite sufficient, and then they should be sure of one another-^nbt babble over their cups. The babies! Then to hire unreliable people to change the notes at the money changers', persons whose hands trem- ble as they receive the rubles. On such their lives de- pend! Far better to strangle yourself! The man goes in, receives the change, counts some over, the last portion he takes on faith, stuffs all in his pocket, rushes away and the murder is out. All is lost by one foolish man. Is it not ridiculous?" 121 Russian Mystery Stories ^ " That his hands should shake? " replied Zametoff. " No; that is quite likely. Yours would not, I suppose? I could not endure it, though. For a paltry reward of a hundred rubles to go on such a mission! And where? Into a banker's office with forged notes! I should certainly lose my head. Would not you ? " RaskolnikolT felt again a strong impulse to make a face at him. A shiver ran dovfn his back. " You would not catch me acting so foolishly," he commenced. " This is how I should do. I should count over the first thousand very carefully, perhaps four times, right to the end, care- fully examine each note, and then only pass to the second thousand, count these as far as the middle of the bundle, take out a note, hold it to the light, turn it over, then hold it to the light again, and say, ' I fear this is a bad note,' and then begin to relate some story about a lost note; Then there would be a third thousand to count. Not yet, please, there is a mistake in the second thousand. No, it is correct. And so I should proceed until I had received all. At Jast I : should turn to go, open the door, but, no, pardon jne! I should return, ask some question, receive some explanation, and there it is/ all done." •■ ;■ ' : ■ "What funny things you. do say! " said Zametoff with a smile. " You are all very well theoretically, but try it and. see. Look, for example, at the murder of the money lender, a case in point. There was a desperate villain who in broad daylight stopped at nothing, and yet his hand shook, did it not?-— "JNTever fear but we /shall! " ,/'You? Go to, you know nothing about it. All you think of inquiring is wliether a man is fiiaging money about; he is — then, ergo^ he is guilty." 122 Feodor Dostoyevsky " That Is exactly what they do," replied Zametoff, " they murder, risk their lives, and then rush to the public house and are caught. Their lavishness betrays them. You see they are not all so crafty as you are. You would not run there, I suppose?" ' Raskolnikoff frowned and looked steadily at Zametoff. " You seem anxious to , know how I should act," he said with some displeasure. " I should very much like to know," replied Zametoff, in a serious tone. He seemed, indeed, very anxious. " Very much? " " Very much." " Good. This would be my plan," Raskolnikoff said, as he again bent near to the face of his listener, and speak- ing in such a tragic whisper as almost to make the latter shudder. " I should take the money and all I could find, and make off, going, however, in no particular direction, but on and on until I came to some obscure and inclosed place, where no one was about — a market garden, or any such-like spot. I should then look about me for a stone, perhaps a pound and a half in weight, lying, it may be, in a corner against a partition, say a stone used for building purposes ; this I should lift up and Under it there would be a hole. In that hole I should deposit all the things I had got, roll back the stone, stamp it down with my feet, and be off. For a year I should let them lie — for two years, three years. Now then, search for them! Where are they?" " You are indeed mad," said Zametoff, also in a low tone, but turning away from Raskolnikoff. The latter's eyes glistened, he became paler than ever, while his upper lip trembled violently. He placed his face closer, if possible, to that of Zametoff, his lips moving as if he wished to speak, but no words escaped them — several moments elapsed-^Raskolnikoff knew what he was doing, but felt utterly unable to control himself, that strange impulse was upon him as when he stood at the bolted door, to come forth and let all be known. 12:^ Russian Mystery Stories "What if r killed, the old woman and Elizabeth?" he asked suddenly, and then — came to himself. Zametoff turned quite pale; then his face changed to a smile. "Can it be so?" he muttered to himself. RaskolnikoflE eyed him savagely. " Speak out. What do you think? Yes? Is it so?" " Of course not. I believe it now less than ever," replied Zametoff hastily. " Caught at last ! caught, my fine fellow ! What peo- ple believe less than ever, they must have believed once, eh?" " Not at all. You frightened me into the supposition," said Zametofif, visibly confused. "So you do not think this? Then. why those questions in the office? Why did the lieutenant question me after my swoon? Waiter," he cried, seizing his cap, " here, how much?" " Thirty kopecks, sir," replied the man. " There you are, and twenty for yourself. Look, what a lot of money! " turning to Zametoff and thrusting forth his shaking hand filled with the twenty-five rubles, red and blue notes. " Whence comes all this? Where did I obtain these new clothes from? You know I had none. You have asked the landlady, I suppose? Well, no matter l^Enough! Adieu, most affectionately." He went out, shaking from some savage hysterical emo- tion, a mixture of delight, gloom, and weariness. His face was drawn, as if he had just recovered from a fit; and, as his agitation of mind increased, so did his weakness. Meanwhile, Zametoff remained in the restaurant where Raskolnikoff had left him, deeply buried in thought, con- sidering the different points Raskolnikoff had placed be- fore him. . His heart was empty and depressed, and he strove again to. drive off thought. No feeling of anguish came, neither was there any trace of that fierce energy which moved him when he left the house to " put an end to it all." " What will be the end of it? The result lies in my own 124 Feodor Dostoyevsky will. What kind of end ? Ah, we are all alike, and accept the bit of ground for our feet and live. Must this be the end? Shall I say the word or not? Oh, how weary I feel! Oh, to lie down or sit anywhere! How foblish it is to strive against my illness! Bah! What thoughts run through my brain! " Thus he meditated as he went drow- sily along the banks of the canal, until, turning to the right and then to the left, he reached the Office building. He stopped short, however, and, turning down a lane, went on past two other streets, with no fixed purpose, simply, no doubt, to give himself a few moments longer for reflec- tion. He went 6n, his eyes fixed on the ground, until all of a sudden he started, as if some one had whispered in his ear. Raising his eyes he saw that he stood before the house, at its very gates. Quick as lightning, an idea rushed into his head, and he marched through the yard and made his way up the well- known staircase to the fourth story. It was, as usual, very dark, and as he reached each landing he peered afmost with caution. There was the room newly painted, where Dmitri and Mikola had worked. He reached the fourth landing and he paused before the murdered woman's room in doubt. The door was wide open and he could hear voices within; this he had not anticipated. However, after wavering a little, he went straight in. The room was being done up, and in it were some workmen. This astonished I him — indeed, it would seem he had expected to find every- ) thing as he had left it, even to the dead bodies lying on ' the floor. But to see the place with bare, walls and bereft of furniture was very strange! He walked up to the win- ' dows and sat on the sill. One of the workmen now saw him and cried: " What do you want here? " Instead of replying, Raskolnikofif walked to the outer door and, standing outside, began to pull at the bell. Yes, that was the bell, with its harsh sound. He pulled again and again three times, and remained there listening and thinking. 125 Russian Mystery Stories m " What is it you want? " again cried the workman as he went out to Raskolnikoff. " I wish to hire some rooms. I came to look at these." " People don't take lodgings in the night. Why don't you apply to the porter? " " The floor has been washed. Are you going to paint it? " remarked Raskolnikofif. " Where is the blood? " " What blood? " " The old woman's and her sister's. There was quite a pool." " Who are you ? " cried the workman uneasily. " I am Rodibn Romanovitch Raskolnikoff, ex-student. I live at the house Schilla, in a lane not far from here, No. 14. Ask the porter there — he knows me," Raskolnikoff replied indifferently, without turning to his questioner. " What were you doing in those rooms? " "Looking at them." " What for? Come, out you go then, if you won't ex- plain yourself," suddenly shouted the porter, a huge fellow in a smock frock, with a large bunch of keys round his waist ; and he caught Raskolnikoff by the shoulder and pitched hinif into the street. The latter lurched forward, but recovered himself, and, giving one look at the specta- tors, went quietly away. " What shall I do now? " thought Raskolnikoff. He was standing on the bridge, near a crossing, and was looking around him as if expecting some one to speak. But no one spoke, and all was dark and dull, and dead — at least to him, and him alone. A few days later, Raskolnikoff heard from his friend Razoumikhin that those who had borrowed money from Alena Ivanovna were going to the police office to redeem their pledges. He went with Razoumikhin to the office where they were received by Porphyrins PetroVitch, the examining magistrate, who seemed to have expected them. " You have been expecting this visit? But how did you know that he had pledged anything with Alena Ivanovna? " cried Razoumikhin. Feodor Dastoyevsky Porphyrius Petrovitch, without any further reply, said to Raskolnikoff : " Your things, a ring and a watch, were at her place, wrapped up in a piece of paper, and on this paper your name was legibly written in pencil, with the date of the day she had received these things from you." " What a memory you must have got ! " said Raskolni- kofif, with a forced smile, doing his best to look the magis- trate unflinchingly in the face. However, he could not help adding: " I say so, because, as the owners of the pledged articles are no doubt very numerous, you must, I should fancy, have some difiSculty in remembering them all; but I see, on the contrary, that you do nothing of the kind. (Ohl fooll why add that?)" " But they have nearly all of them come here ; you alone had not done so," answered Porphyrius, with an almost im- perc«ptible sneer. " I happened to be rather unwell." " So I heard. I have been told that you have been in great pain. Even now you are pale." " Not at all. I am not pale. On the contrary, I am very well! " answered Raskolnikoff in a tone of voice which had all at once become brutal and violent. He felt rising within him uncontrollable anger. " Anger will make me say some foolish thing," he thought. " But why do they exasperate me.?" "He was rather unwell! A pretty expression, to be sure ! " exclaimed Razoumikhin. " The fact is that up to yesterday he has been almost unconscious. Would you believe it, Porphyrius? Yesterday, when he could hardly stand upright, he seized the moment when we had just left him, to dress, to be ofif by stealth, and to go loafing about. Heaven only knows where, till midnight, being, all the time, in a completely raving condition. Gan you im- agine such a thing? It is a most remarkable easel " "Indeed! In a completely raving state?" remarked Porphyrius, with the toss of the head peculiar to Russian rustics. "Absurd! Don't you believe a word of it! Besides, I Russian Mystery Stories ^ need not urge you to that effect— of course you are con- vinced," observed Raskolnikoff, beside himself with pas- sion. But Porphyrins Petrovitch did not seem to hear these singular words. " How could you have gone out if you had not been de- lirious ? " asked Razoumikhin, getting angry, in his turn. " Why have gone out at all? What was the object of it? And, above all, to go in that secret manner? Come, now, make a clean breast of it — you know you were out of your mind, were you not? Now that danger is gone by, I tell you so to your face." " I had been very much annoyed yesterday," said Ras- kolnikofif, addressing the magistrate, with more or less of insolence in his smile, " and, wishing to get rid of them, I went out to hire lodgings where I could be sure of pri- vacy, to eflfect which I had taken a certain amount of money. Mr. Zametoflf saw what I had by me, and perhaps he can say whether I was in my right senses yesterday or whether I was delirious? Perhaps he will judge as to our quarrel.'" Nothing would have pleased him better than there and then to have strangled that gentleman, whose taciturnity and equivocal facial expression irritated him. " In my opinion, you were talking very sensibly and even with considerable shrewdness; only I thought you too irri- table," observed Zametofif oflf-handedly. "Do let us have some tea! We are as dry as fishes!" exclaimed Razoumikhin. " Good idea! But perhaps you would like something more substantial before tea, would you?" "Look alive, then!" Porphyrins Petrovitch went out to order tea. All kinds of thoughts were at work in RaskolnikofFs brain. He was excited. " They don't even take pains to dissemble ; they certainly don't mince matters as far as I am concerned: that is something, at all events! Since Porphyrins knew next to nothing about me, why on earth should he have spoken with Nicodemus Thomich Zametoflf at all? They even scorn to deny that they are on my track, almost like feodor Dostoyevsky a pack of hounds! They certainly speak out plainly enough!" he said, trembling with rage. "Well, do so, as bluntly as you like, but don't play with me as the cat would with the mouse! That's not quite civil, Porphyrins Petrovitch; I won't quite allow that yet! I'll make a stand and tell you some plain truths to your faces, and then you shall find out my real opinion about you ! " He had some difficulty in breathing. " But supposing that all this is pure fancy? — a kind of mirage? Suppose I had misunder- stood? Let me try and keep up my nasty part, and not commit myself, like the fool, by blind anger! Ought I to give them credit for intentions they have not? Their words are, in themselves, not very extraordinary ones — so much must be allowed; but a double meaning may lurk beneath them. Why did Porphyrius, in speaking of the old woman, simply say ' At her place? ' Why did 'Zame- tofif observe that I had spoken very sensibly? Why their peculiar manner? — yes, it is this manner of theirs. How is it possible that all this cannot have struck Razoumikhin ? The booby never notices anything! But I seem to be fever- ish again! Did Porphyrius give me a kind of wink jUst now, or was I deceived in some way? The idea is absurd! Why should he wink at me? Perhaps they intend to up- set my nervous organization, and, by so doing, drive me to extremes! Either the whole thing is a phantasmagoria, or — they know ! " These thoughts flashed through his mind with the rapid- ity of lightning. Porphyrius Petrovitch came back a mo- ment afterwards. He seemed in a very good temper. "When I left your place yesterday, old fellow, I was really not well," he commenced, addressing Razoumikhin with a cheeriness which was only just becoming apparent, " but that is all gone now." " Did you find the evening a pleasant one? I left you in the thick of the fun; who came off best?" " Nobody, of course. They caviled to their Heart's con- tent over their old arguments." " Fancy, Rodia, the discussion last evening turned on the I2Q Russian Mystery Stories • question: ' Does crime exist? Yes, or No.' And the non- sense they talked on the subject! " " What is there extraordinary in the query? It is the social question without the charm of novelty," answered Raskolnikoff abruptly. " Talking of crime," said Porphyrius Petrovitch, speafe- ing to Raskolnikoff, " I remember a production of yours which greatly interested me. I am spe'aking about your article on crime. I don't very well remember the title. I was delighted in reading it two months ago in the Periodical Word." . " But how do you know the article was mine ? I only signed it with an initial." " I discovered it lately, quite by chance. The chief editor is a friend of mine; it was he who let out the secret of your authorship. The Article has greatly interested me." " I was analyzing, if I remember rightly, the psycholog- ical condition of a criminal at the moment of his deed." " Yes, and you strove to prove that a criminal, at such a moment, is always, mentally, more or less unhinged. That point of view is a very original one, but it was not this part of your article which most interested me. I was particu- larly struck by an idea at the end of the article, and which, unfortunately, you have touphed upon too cursorily. In a word, if you remember, you maintained that there are men in existence who can, or more accurately; who have an absolute right to commit all kinds of wicked and criminal acts — men for whom, to a certain extent, laws do not exist/' " Is it not very likely that some coming Napoleon did for Alena Ivanovna last week?" suddenly blustered Zametoff from his corner. Without saying a word, Raskolnikoff fixed on Porphyrius a firm and penetrating glance. Raskolnikoff was beginning to look sullen. He seemed to have been suspecting some- thing for some time past. He looked round him with an irritable air. For a moment there was an ominous silence. Raskolnikoff was getting ready to go. " What, are you off already ? " asked Porphyrius, kindly 130 Feodor Dostoyevsky offering the young man his hand with extreme affability. "I am delighted to have made your acquaintance. And as for your application, don't bie uneasy about it. Write in the way I suggested. Or, pethetps, you had better do this. Come and see me before? long — to-morroWj if you like. I shall rbe here without fail at eleven o'clock. We can make everything right — .we'll have a chat — and as you were one of the last that went there, you might be able to give some further particulars ? " he added, with his friendly smile. ; , "Do you wish to examine me formally?" Raskolnikofi inquired, in an uncomfortable tone. > " Why should I ? Such , a thing is out of the question. You have mistunderstood me. I ought to tpll you that I manage to make the most of every opportunity: I have already had a chat with every single. person that has been in the habit of pledging things with the old wOman — =sevf eral vhaye 'gil^en jnie. very useful information — a:nd as you happen; to fefti the last one— By the by," he exclaimed, with sudden pleasure, " how lucky I am thinking; about itr, I was really going to foiget it! " (Saying which he turped to .Ra^ouniikhin.) "You ^erfe ahnost stunning my ears, thCiOtheiriday, talking about MikolJkav Well, I am certain, quite, certain,; as to his innocence,'?! ihe went on, once more addressing himself to Raskolnikoff. "But ivhat was lb; be done?. It ; has ibeen necessary to disturb DmitrL Now, what I wanted to ask was : On going upstairs — was it hot between seven asod eight you entered the house ? '' " Yes," replied Raskolnikoff, and he immediately regrets- ted an answer he ought to have avoided. . " Wdl, in going upstairs, between seven and eight, did you not see on the second floor, in one of the rooms, when the door was wide open — you rememberj I dare say ? — rdid you not see two painters, or, at all events, one of the two ? They were ^whitewashing the roow, I belteve-iyou must have seen, them .'..The. rnatter is of the utmost importance to them!" " Painters, you say? I saw none," replied Raskolnikoff slowly, trying to sound his memory : for a moment he vio- Russian Mystery Stories ^ lently strained it to discover, as quickly as he could, the trap concealed by the magistrate's question^ "No, I did not see a single one; I did not even see any room standing open;'-'; he went on, delighted at having discovered the trap, " but on the fourth floor I remember noticing that the man lodging on the same landing as Alena Ivanovna was in the act of mpving. I remember that very well, as I met a few soldiers carrying a sofa, and I was obliged to back against the wall; but, as for painters, I don't remember seeing a single one — I don't even remember a room that had its door open. No, I saw nothing." " But what are you talking about ? " all at once exclaimed RazoUmikhin, who, tiir that moment, had attentively lis- tened; " it was on the very day of the murder that painters were busy in that room, while he came there two days previously! Why are you asking that question?" " Right ! I have confused the dates ! " cried Porphyrius; tapping his forehead. " Deuce take me ! That job makes me lose my head ! " he' added by way of excuse, and speak- ing to Raskolnikoff. " It -s very important that we should know if anybody saw them in that room between seven and eight. I thought I might have got that information from you without thinking any more about it. I had positively confused the days ! " " You ougbt to be more attentive ! " grumbled Razou- mikhin. These last words were uttered in the anteroom, as Por- phyrius very civilly led his visitors to the door. They were gloomy and morose on leaving the house, and had gone isome distance before speaking. Raskolnikoff breathed like a man who had just been subjected to a severe trial. When, on the following day, precisely at eleven o'clock, RaskolnikofiE called on the examining magistrate> he was astonished to have to dance attendance for a considerable time. According to his idea, he ought to have been admitted immediately ; ten minutes, however, elapsed before he could see Porphyrins Petrovitch. In the outer room where he had been waiting, people came and went without heeding 132 Feodor Dosioyevsky him- in the least. In the next room, which was a kind o'f office, a few clerks were at work, and it was evident that not one of them had even an idea \vho Raskolnikoff niight be. The young man cast a mistrustful look about him. " Was there not," thought he, " some spy, some mysterious myrmidon of the law, ordered to watch him, and, if neces- sary, to prevent his escape ? " But he noticed nothing of the kind ; the clerks were all hard at work, and the other people paid him no kind of attention. The visitor began to become reassured. " If," thought he, " this mysterious per- sonage of yesterday, this specter which had risen from the bowels of the earth, knew all, and had seen all, would they, I should like to know, let me stand about like this? Would they not rather have arrested me, instead of waiting till I should' come of my own accord? Hence this man has either made no kind of revelation as yet about me, or, more prob- ably, he knows: nothing, and has seen nothing (besides how could. he have seen anything?): consequently I have mis- judged, and all that happend yesterd^ty was nothing but an illusion of my diseased imagination." This explanation, which had offered itself the day befbre to his mind, at the time he ffelt most fearful, he considered a more likely one. Whilst thinking about all this and getting ready for k new struggle, Raskolnikoff suddenly perceived that he was trembling ; he became indignant at the very thought that it was fear of an interview with the hateful Porphyrins Petro- vitch which led him to do so. The most terrible thing to him was to find himself once again in presence of this man. He hated him beyond all expression, and what he dreaded was lest he might show this hatred. His indignation was so great that it suddenly stopped this trembling; he therefore prepared himself to enter with a calm and self-possessed air, promised himself to speak as little as possible^ to be very carefully on the watch in order to check, above all things; his irascible disposition. In the midst of these reflections, he was introduced to Porphyrins Petrovitch. The latter was alone in his office, a room of medium dimensions, containing a large tiable^ facing a sofa covered with shiny leather, a 133 Russian Mystery Stories ^ •bureau, a cupboard stan4ing in a corner, and a few chairs : all this furniture, provided by the State, was of yellow wood. In the wall, or rather in the wainscoting of the other end, there w?s a closed door, which led one to think that there were other rooms behind it. As soon as Porphyrius Petro- vitch had seen Raskolnikoff enter his office, he went to close the door which had given him admission, and both stood fac- ing one another. The magistrate received his visitor to all ap- pearances in a pleasant and affable manner, and it was only at the expiration of a few moments that the latter observed the magistrate's somewhat embarrassed manner — ^he seemed to have been disturbed in a more or less clandestine occupation. " Good ! my respectable friend ! Here you are then— in our latitudes! " commenced Porphyrius, holding out both hands. "Pray, be seated, batuphka! But, perhaps, you don't like being called respectable ? Therefore, batuchka, for short ! Pray, don't think me familiar. Sit down here on the sofa." RaskolnJkoflf did so without taking his eyes off the judge. " These words ' in our latitudes,' these excuses for his familiarity, this expression ' for short,' what could be the meaning of all this ? He held out his hands to me vyithout shaking mine, withdrawing them before I could do so," thought Raskolnikoff mistrustfully. Both watched each other, but no sooner did their eyes meet than they both turned them aside with the rapidity of a flash of lightning. " I have called with this paper — about the Jf you please. Is it correct, or must another form be drawn up ? " " What, what paper ? Oh, yes ! Do not put yourself out. It is perfectly correct," answered Porphyrius somewhat hur- riedly, before he had even examined it ; then, after having cast a glance on it, he said, speaking very rapidly : " Quite right, that is all that is required," and placed the sheet on the table. A moment later he locked it up in his bureau, chattering about other things. , " Yesterday," observed Raskolnikoff, " you had, I fancy, a wish to examine me formally — with reference to my desd- jngs with — ^the victim ? At least so it seemed to me ! " " Why did I say, ' So it seemed ? ' " reflected the young 134 Feodor Dosfoyevsky man all o£ a sudden. "After all, what can be the harm of it ? Why should I distress myself about that ! " he added, mentally, a moment afterwards. The very fact of his prox- imity to Pbrphyrius, with whom he had scarcely as yet interchanged a wordv had immeasurably increased his mis- trust ; he marked this in a moment, and concluded that such a mood was an exceedingly dangerous one, inasmuch as his agitation, his nervous irritation, would only increase. " That is bad ! very bad ! I shall be saying something thoughtless ! " " Quite right. But do not put yourself out of the way, there is time, plenty of time," murmured Petrovitchj who, without apparent design, kept going to and fro, now ap- proaching the window, now his bureau, to return a moment afterwards to the table. At times he would avoid Raskolni- koff's suspicious look, at times again he drew up sharp whilst looking his visitor straight in the face. The sight of this short chubby man, whose movements recalled those of a ball rebounding from wall to wall, was an extremely odd one. " No hurry, no hurry, I assure you ! But you smoke, do you not ! Have you any tobacco ? Here is a c^anette ! " he went on, ofiEering his visitor a paquitos. " You notice that I am receiving you here, but my quarters are there behind the wainscoting. The State provides me with that. I am here as it were on the wing, because certain alterations are being made in my rooms. Everything is almost straight now. Do you know that quarters provided by the State are t^ no means to be despised ? " " I believe you," answered Raskolnikoff, looking at him almost fderisively. " Not to be despised, by any means," repeated Porphy- rius l^etrovitch, whose mind seemed to be preoccupied with something else — " not to be despised ! " he continued in a very loud tone of voice, and drawing himself up close to Raskolnikoff, whom he stared out of countenance. The in- cessant repetition of the statement that quarters provided by the State were by no means to be despised contrasted singularly,, by its platitude, with the serious, profound, enig- matical look he now cast on his visitor. 135 Russian Mystery Stories ^ Raskolnikof5f's angier grew in consequence ; he could hardly help returning the magistrate's look with an imprudently scornful glance. " Is it true? " the latter commenced, with ,a complacently insolent air, " is it true that it is a judicial maxim, a maxim resorted to by all magistrates, to begin an interview about trifling things, or even, occasionally, abdut more serious matter, foreign to the main question however, with a view to embolden, to distract, or even to lull the sus- picion of a person under examination, and then all of a sud- den to crush him with the main question, just as you strike a man a blow straight between the eyes ? " " Such a custom, I believe, is religiously observed in your profession, is it not ? " " Then you are of opinion that when I spoke to you about quarters provided by the State, I did so " Saying which, Porphyrius Petravitch blinked, his face assumed for a mo- ment atn expression of roguish gayety, the wrinkles on his brow became smoothed, his small eyes grew smaller still, his features expanded, andy looking Raskolnikoff straight in the face, he burst out into a prolonged fit of nervous laughter, which shook him from head to foot. The young man, on his part, laughed likewise, with more or less of an effort, how- ever, at sight of which Porphyrius's hilarity increased to such an extent that his face grew nearly crimson. At this Raskolnikoff experienced more or less aversion, which led him to forget all caution; he ceased laughing, knitting his brows, and, whilst Porphyrius gave way to his hilarity, which seemed a somewhat feigned one, he fixed on him a look of hatred. In truth, they were both off their guard. Porphy- rius had, in iact, laughed at his visitor, who hkd taken this in bad part; whereas the former seemed to care but little about Raskolnikoff's displeasure. This circumstance gave the young man much matter for thought. He fancied that his visit had in no kind of way discomposed the magistrate ;. on the contrary, it was Raskolnikoff who had been caught in a trap, a snare, an ambush of some kind or other. The mine was, perhaps, already charged, and might burst at any moment. 136 Feodor Dostoyevsky Anxious to get straight to the point, Raskdlnikoff rose and took up his cap. " Porphyrius Petrovitch/' he cried, in a resolute tone of voice, betraying more or less irritation, " yesterday you expressed the desire to subject me to a judicial examination." (He laid special istress on this last word.) " I have called at your bidding; if you have ques- tions to put, do so : if not, allow me to withdraw. I can't afford to waste my time here, as I have other things to attend to. In a word, I must go to the funeral of the official who has been run over, and of whom you have heard speak," he added, regretting, however, the last part of his sentence. Then, with increasing anger, he went on: " Let me tell you that all this worries me! The thing is hanging over much too long. It is that mainly that has made me ill. In one word," — ^he continued, his voice seeming more and more irritable, for he felt that the remark about his illness Was yet more out of place than the previous one — " in one word, either be good enough to cross-examine me, of let me go this very moment. If you do question me, do so in the usual formal way; otherwise, I shall object. In the meanwhile, adieUj siiice We have nothing more to do with one another." " Good gracious ! What can you be talking about ? Ques- tion you about what?" replied the magistrate, immediately ceasing his laugh. " Don't, I beg, disturb yourself." He requested Raskolnikoff to sit down once more, continuing, nevertheless, his tramp about the room. " There is time, plenty of time. The matter is not of such importance after all. On the' contrary, I am delighted at your visits — for as such do I take your call. As for my horrid way of laughing, batuchkd, RodiOn Romanovitch, 1 must apologize. I am a nervous man, and the shrewdness of your observations has titkledme. There are times when I go up and down like an elastic ball, and that for half an hour at a time. I am fond of laughter. My temperament leads me to dread apoplexy. But, pray, do sit down — why remain standing ? D6, 1 must request you, baiuchka'; otherwise I shall fancy that you are cross." His brows still knit, Raskolnikoff held his tongue, listened, and watched. Ill the meanwhile he sat down. 137 Russian Mysiery Stories ^ "As far as I am concerned, batuchka, Rodion Romano- vitch, I,\viH tell you something which shall reyeal to you my disposition," answered Porphyrius Petroviteh, continu- ing to fidget a^bout the room, and, as before, avoiding his visitor's gaze. " I live alone, you must know, never go into society, and am, therefore, unknown; add to which, that I am a man on the shady side of forty, somewhat played out. you may have noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that here— I mean in Russia, of course, and^ especially in St. Petersburg circles — that when two intelligent men happen to meet who, as yet, are not familiar, but who, however, have mutual esteem— as., for instance, you and. I have at this moment — don't. I^rfow what tP talk,aboij.t for half an hour at a. time. They seern, both of them, a? if petrified; Everyone else has a subject for coayersation— ladies, for instance, people in society, the tipper ten — all these sets have some topic or otber. .I;t is the thing, but somehow peoplje of the middle- class, like you and I, seem constrained and taciturn. How does tijat come about, f>^t/i^,}\}^af Have we no social inter- ests? Or is it, rather, owing to our being too straightfor- ward to mi^leiad one another ? I don't know. What is your opinion, pray? But do, I beg, remove your cap; one would really fancy that you i^aijted to be off, and that pains me. I, you must know, aiji so contented.". . I^sfs^^plnikoff laid his cap down. He did nc^:, however, become more loquacious; and, with knit brows,. listened to Porphyrius's idle chatter. ."I suppose," thought he, "he only doles put his. sm^l jtalk to distract my attention." " I don't offer you snjr, coffee," went on the inexhaust- ible Porphyrius, "because this is not the place for, it, but can you not spend a few minutes with a friend, by way of causing him some little distraction? You must know that all thejse professional obligations — don't be vexed, batuchka, if you see me walking about like this, I am sure you will excuse me, if I tell you how anxious I am not to do so, but movement is so indispensable to me ! I am always seated-r and, to me, it is quite a luxury to be able to move about for a minute or two. I purpose, in fact, to go through a course 138 Feodor Dosfoyevsky of calisthenics. The trapeze is said to stand in high favor amongst State counselors— counselors in office, even amongst privy counselors. Nowadays, in fact, gymnastics have become a positive science. As for these duties of our office, these examinations, all this formality— you yourself, you will remember,, touched upon the topic just now, batuchkor—thtse examinations, and so forth, sometimes per- plex the magistrate much more than the man under sus- picion. You said as much just now with as much sense as accuracy." (RaskolnikofF had made no statement of the kind.) "One gets confused, one loses the thread of the invesUgation. Yet, as far as our judicial customs go, I agree with you fully. Where, for instance, is there a man under suspicion of some kind or other,^ were it even the most thick-headed moujik, who does not know that the magistrate win commence by putting all sorts of out-of-the-way ques- tioras to take him off the scent (if I may be allowed to use your happy simile), and that then he suddenly gives him one between the eyes? A blow of the ax on his sinciput (if again I may be permitted to use your ingenious metaphor) ? Hah, hah! 'And do you mean to say that when I spoke ta you about quarters providied by the State, that— hah, hah t You are very caustic. But I won't revert to that agaiin. By- and-by !■ — one remark produces another, one thought attracts another — :but you were talking just now of the practice or form in vogue with the examining fiiaigistrate. - But what is this form ? You know as I do that in many cases the form means nothing at all. Occasionally a simple conversa- tion, a friendly interview, brings about a more certain result. The practice or form will never die out-^I can vouch for that; but what, after all, is the form, I ask once more? You? can't compel an examining magistrate to be hampered oit bound by it everlastingly. His duty or method is, in its; way, one of the liberal professions or something very muchi like it." i Porphyrius Petrovitch stopped a moment to take breath;. He kept on talking; now uttering pure nonsense, now agaiim introducing, in spite of this trashy an occasional enigmatical 139 Rt^ssian Mystery Stories m remark, after which he went; on with his insipidities. His tramp about the room was more like a race — ^he moved his stout legs more and more quickly, without looking up ; his right hand was thrust deep in the pocket of his coat, whilst with the left he unceasingly gesticulated in a way uncon- nected with his observations. Raskolnikoff noticed, or fan- cied he noticed, that, whjlst running round and round the room, he had twice stopped near the door, seeming to listen. " Does he expect something?" he asked himself. " You're perfectly right," f^umed Porphyrius cheerily, ijirhilst looking at the young man with a kindliness which immediately awoke, the latter's distrust. " Our. judicial cus- toms deserve your sadire. Our proceedings, which are sup- posed to be inspired by a profound knowledge of psychology, are very ridiculous ones, and very often useless. Now, to return to our method or formJlStfPpose for a moment that I am deputed to investigate something or othfer, and that I know the guilty person to; be a certain gentleman. Are you not yourself reading for the law, Rodion Romanovitch? " " I was some time ago." " Well, here is a kind of example which may be of use to you later on. Don't run away with the idea that I am setting up as your instructor — God forbid that I should presume to teach anything to a man who treats criminal questions in the public press ! Oh, no ! — ^all I am doing is to quote to you, by way of example, a trifling fact.: Suppose that I fancy I am ■convinced of the guilt of a certain man, why, I ask you, should I frighten hiin prematurely, assuming me to have ■every evidence against him? Of course, in the case of an^ other man of a different disposition, him I would have ar- rested forthwith ; but, as to the former, why should I not permit him to hang about a little longer ? I see you do not quite take me. I will, therefore, endeavor to explain myself more clearly! If, for instance, I should be too quick in issuing a writ, I provide him in doing so with a species of moral stjpport or mainstay — I see you are laughing? " (Ras- kolnikoff, on the contrary, had no such desire; his lips were set, and his glaring look was not removed frotn> Porphy- 140 Feodor Dostoyevsky rius's eyes.) " I assure you that in actual practice such is really the case ; men vary much, although, unfortunately, our methods are the same for all. But you will ask me: Sup- posing you are certain of your proofs? Goodness me, batuchka! yon know, perhaps as well as I do, what proofs are — ^half one's time, proofs may be taken either way; and I,, a magistrate, am, after all, only a man liable to error. "Now, what I want is to give to my investigation the ; precision of a mathematical demonstration — I want my con- clusions to be as plain, as indisputable, as that twice two are four. Now, supposing I have this gentleman arrested pre- maturely, though I may be positively certain that he is th^ man, yet I deprive myself of all future means of proving his guilt. How is that? Because, so to say, I give him, to a certain extent, a definite status; for, by putting him in prison, I pacify him. I give him the chance of investigating his actual state of mind— he will escape me, for he will re;- flect. In a word, he knows that he is, a prisoner, and nothing more. If, on the contrary, I take no kind of notice of the man I fancy guilty, if I do not have him arrested, if I in no way set him on his guard — ^but if the unfortunate creature is hourly, momentarily, possessed by the suspicion that I know all, that I do not lose sight of him either by night or by day, that he is the object of my indefatigable vigilance — ^what do you ask will take place under these circumstances ? He will lose his self-possession, he will come of his own accord to me, he will provide me with ample evidence against himself, and will enable me to give to the conclusion of my inquiry the accuracy of mathe- matical proofs, v?hich is not without its charm. " If: such a course succeeds with an uncultured moujik, it is equally efficacious when it, concerns an enlightened, intelli- gent, or even distinguished man. For the main thing, my dear friend, is to determine in what sense a man is devel- oped. The man, I mean, is intelligent, but he has nervea which are oz'^r-strung. And as for- bile — ^the bile you are forgetting, that plays no small part with similar folk ! Be- lieve me, here we have a very mine of information! And 141 Russian Mystery Stories what is it to me whether such a man walk about the place in perfect liberty ? Let him be at ease — I know him to be my prey, and that he won't escape me ! Where, I ask you, could he go to ? You may say abroad. A Pole may do so— but my man, never! especially as I watch him, and have taken steps in consqtience. Is he likely to escape into the very heart of our country ? Not he ! for there dwell coarse moujiks, and primitive Russians, without any kind of civil- ization. My educated friend would prefer going to prison, rather than be in the midst of such surroundings. Besides, what I have been saying up to the present is not the main point — it is the exterior and accessory aspect of the question. He won't escape — ^not only because he won't know where to go to, but especially, and abdve all, because he is mine from the psychological point of view. What do you think of this explanation ? In virtue of a natural law, he will not escape, even if he could do so ! Have you ever seen a butterfly close to the candle ? My man will hover incessantly round me in ithe same way as the butterfly gyrates round the candle-light. E^iberty will have no longer charms for him ; he will grow ■more and more restless, more and more amazed— ^let me but give him plenty of time, and he will demean himself in a way to prove his guilt as plainly as that twice two our four! Yes, he will keep hovering about me, describing circles, smaller and smaller, till at last — ^bang! He has flown into .my clutches, and I have got him. That is very nice. You don't think so, perhaps ? " Raskolnikoff kept silent. Pale and immovable, he con- tinued to watch Porphyrius's face with a labored effort of attention. " The lesson is a good one ! " he reflected. " But it is not, as yesterday, a case of the cat playing with the mouse. Of course, he does not talk to me in this way for the mere pleasure of showing me his hand ; he is much too intelligent for that. He must have something else in view— what can it be? Come, friend, what you do say is only to frighten me. You have no kind of evidence, and the man of yesterday does not exist ! All you wish is to perplex me ■^to enrage me, so as to enable you to make your last move, 142 Feodor Dostoyevsky should you catch me in such a mood, but you will not; all your pains Tvill be in vain ! But why should he speak in such covert terms? I presume he must be speculating on the excitability of my nervous system. But, dear friend, that, won't go down, in spite of your machinations. We will try and find out what you really have been driving at." And he prepared to brave boldly the terrible catastrophe he anticipated. Occasionally the desire came upon him to rush on Porphyrins, and to strangle him there and then. From th€ first moment of having entered the magistrate's- office what he had dreaded most was, lest he might lose his temper. He felt his heart beating violently, his lips become parched, his spittle congealed. He resolved, however, to hold his tongue, knowing that, under the circumstances, such would be theTjest tactics.' By similar means, he felt sure that he would not only not become compromised, but that he might succeed in exasperating his enemy, in order to let him drop some imprudent observation. This, at all events, was Raskolnikoff's hope. " I see you don't believe, you think I am jesting," con- tinued Porphyrius, more and more at his ease, without ceas- ing to indulge in his little laugh, whilst continuing his per- ambulation about the room. " You may be right. God has given me a face which only arouses comical thoughts in others. I'm a buffoon. But excuse an old man's cackle. You. Rodion Romanovitch, you are in your prime, and, like all young people, you appreciate, above all things, human in- telligence. Intellectual smartness and abstract rational de- ductions entice you. But, to return to the special case we were talking about just now. I must tell you that we have to deal with reality, with nature. This is a very important thing, and how admirably does she often foil the highest skill ! Listen to an old man ; I am speaking quite seriously^, Rodion" — (on saying which Porphyrius Petrovitch, who was hardly thirty-five years of age, seemed all of a sudden to have aged, a sudden metamorphosis had taken place in the whole of his person, nay, in his very voice) — " to an old man who, however, is not wanting in candor. Am I or am M3 Russian Mystery Stories m jl not candid ? What do you think? It seems to me that a .man could hardly be more so — for do I not reveal confi- dence, and that without the prospect of reward? But, to continue, acuteness of mind, is, in my opinion, a very fine thing; it iS;to all intents and purposes an ornament of nature, one of the consolations of life by means of which it would appear a poor magistrate can be easily gulled, who, after ,all, is often misled by his own imagination, for he is only human. But nature comes to the aid of this human magis- trate ! There's the rub ! And youth, so confident in its own intelligence, youth which tramples under foot every obstacle, forgets this! " Now, in the special case undex consideration, the guilty ■man, I will assume, lies hard and fast, but, when he fancies ■that all that is left him will be to reap the reward of his inendacity, behold, he will, succumb in the very place where such an accident; is likely to be most closely analyzed. Asguming even that he may be in a position to account for his syncope by illness or the stifling atmosphere of the ilocal- ity,,he has none the less ^iven rise to suspicion! He has Jied incomparably, but he has counted without nature. Here is the pitfall ! Again, a man off his guard, from an unwary disposition, may delight in mystifying another who suspects him,5 and may wantonly pretend to be the very criminal waited by the authorities ; in such a case, he will represent the person in question a little too closely, he will place his jfoot a little too naturally. Here we have another token. For the nonce his interlocutor may be duped; but, being no iool, h^ \*rill on the morrow have seen through the suuter- f uge. Then yv;ill our friend become compromised more and more ! He will come of his own accord when he is not even called, he will use all kinds of impudent words, remarks, allegories, the meaning of which will be clear to everybody ; he will even go so, far as to come and ask why he has not been arrested as yet — hah ! hah ! And such a line of conduct may occur to a person of keen intellect, yes, even to a man £lf psychologic mind ! Nature, my friend, is the most trans- parent of mirrors, Tp contemplate her is sufficient. But 144 Feodor Dostoyevsky why do you grow pale,, Rodion Romancvitch ? Perhaps you are too hot ; shall I open the window ? " " By no meaus, I beg ! " cried Raskolnikoff, bursting out laughing. " Don't heed me, pray ! " Porphyrius stopped short, waited a moment, and burst out laughing himself. Raskolnikoff, whose hilarity had suddenly died out, rose. " Porphyrius Petrovitch," he shouted in a clear and loud voice, although he could scarcely stand on his trembling legs, '' I can no longer doubt that you suspect me of having assas- sinated this old woman as well as her sister, Elizabeth. Let me tell you that for some time I have had enough of this. If you think you have the right to hunt me down, to have me arrested, hunt me down, have me arrested. But you shall not trifle with me, you shall not torture me." Suddenly his; lips quivered, his eyes gleamed, and his voice, which up to that moment had been self-possessed, reached its highest diapason. " I will not permit it," he yelled hoarsely, whilst striking a violent blow on the table. " Do you hear me, Por- phyrius Petrovitch, I shall not permit this ! " " But, goodness gracious ! what on earth is wrong with you?" asked the magistrate, disturbed to all appearances. " Batuchka! Rodion Romanovitch ! My good friend ! What on earth is the matter with you ? " . " I will not permit it ! " repeated Raskolnikoff once again. "Batuchka! not so loud, I must request! Someone will hear you, someone may come ; and then, what shall we say ? Just reflect one moment ! " . murmured Porphyrius Petro- vitch, whose face had approached that of his visitor. " I will not permit it, I will nbt permit it ! " mechanically pursued Raskolnikoff, but in a minor key, so as to be heard by Porphyrius only. The latter moved away to open the window. " Let us air the room ! Supposing you were to drink some water, dear friend ? You have had a slight fit ! " He was on the point of going to the door to give his orders to a servant, when he saw a water bottle in a corner. " Drink, batuchka I " he murmured, whilst approaching the young man with the bottle, " that may do you some good." 145 Russian Mystery Stories ^ . Porphyrius's fright seemed so natural that Raskolnikoff fremaihed silent whilst examining him with curiosity. He Jiefused, however, the proffered water. " Rodion Romanovitch ! My dear friend ! If you go on in this way, you will go mad, I am positive! Drink, pray, if •only a few drops!" He almost forced the glass of water into his hand. Raskolnikoff raised it mechanically to his ilips, when suddenly he thought better of it, and reiplaced it «on the table with disgust. " Yes, yes, you have had a slight ■fit. One or two mpre,,my friend, a,nd you will have another attfick of your malady," observed the magistrate in the kindest tone of voice, appearing greatly agitated. " Is it possible that people can take so little care, of themselves? It was the same with Dmitri Prokofitch, who called here yes- terday, I admit, mine to be a caustic temperament, that mine 5s a hprrid disposition, but that such a meaning could pos- tsibly be attributed to harmless remarks He called here yes- terday, when you h^ji gone, and in the course of dinner he talked, talked. You had gent him, had you not ? But do sit down, &.a(Mc/i^o.' do s^tdown, for heaven's sake! " " I did not indeed !—ralthough I knew that he had called, andhis object in doing so ! " replied Raskolnikoff dryly. " Did you really know why ? " " I did. And what did you gather, from it? " ■" I gathered from it, batuchka! Rodion Romanovitch, the knowledge of a good many of your doings — in fact, I know all ! I know that you went, towards nightfall, to hire the lodgings. I know thgt you pulled the bell, and that a ques- tion of yours in connection with bloodstains, as well as your manner, frightened both journeymen and dvorniks. I know what was your mood at the time. Excitement of such a kind will drive you out pf your mind, be assured. A praiseworthy indignation is at work within you, complaining now as to destiny, now on the subject of police agents. You keep gping here and there to induce people as far as possible to formulate their accusations. This stupid kind of tittle-tattle is hateful to you, and you are anxious to put a stop to it as soon as possible. Am I right? Have I laid finger on the sentiments 146 Feodor Dostoyevsky which actuate you? But you are not satisfied by turning your own brain, you want to do, or rather do, the same thing to my. good Razoumikhin.; Really, it is a pity to upset so good a fellow! His kindness exposes him more than any- one else to suffer contagion from your own malady! But you shall know all as soon as you shall be calmer. Pray, therefore, once again sit down, batuchka! Try and recover yottr spirits — ^you seem quite unhinged." RaskolnikofI rose while looking at him with an fiir full of contempt. "Tell me once for all," asked the latter, " tell me one way or other, whetheir I am in your opinion an object for suspicion ? Speak up, Porphyrius Petrovitch, and explain' yourself without any more beating about the bush, and that forthwith 1 " *' Just one word, Rodioti Romahovitch. This affair will end as God knows best; but still, by way of form, I may have to ask you a few more questions. Hence we are cer- tain to meet again 1 " And with a smile Porphyrins stopped before the young man. '' Certaiii 1 " he repeated. One might have fancied that he wished to s^y something more. But he did not do so. "Forgive my- strange manner just now, Porphyriiis Petrovitch, I was hasty," began Raskolnikoff, who had re- gained all his self-possession, and who even experienced an irresistible wish to chaff the magistrate. " Don't say any more, it was nothing," replied Porphy- rins in almost joyful tone. "Till we meet again! " "Till we meet a^ain!" The young man forthwith went home. Having got there, he threw himself on his couch, and for a quarter of an hour he tried to arrange his ideas somewhat, inasmuch as they were very- confused. Within a few dayS Raskolnikoff convinced himself that Porphyrins Petrovitch had no real proofs. Deciding to go out, in search of fresh "^air, he took up his cap and made for the door, deep in thought. For the first time he felt in the best of health, really well. He opened the door, and encoimtered Porphyrius face to face. The latter entered. 147 Russian Mystery Stones • Raskolnikoff staggered for a moment, but quicHy recov- ered. The visit did not dismay him. " Perhaps this is the finale, but why does he come upon me like a cat, with muf- fled tread ? Can he have been listening ? " " I have been thinking for a long time of calling on you, and, as I was passing, I thought I might drop in for a few minutes. "Where are you off to ? I won't detain you long, only the time to smoke a cigarette, if you will allow me? " " Be seated, Porphyrins Petrovitch, b^ seated," said Ras- kolnikoff to his guest, assuming such an air of friendship that he himself could have been astonished at his own affa- bility. Thus the victim, in fear and trembling for his life, at last does not feel the knife at his throat. He seated him- self in front of Porphyrins, and gazed upon him without flinching. Porphyrins blinked a little, and commenced roll- ing his cigarette. " Speak! speak! " Raskolnikoff mutely cried in his heart " What are you going to say ? " " Oh, these cigarettes ! " Porphyrius Petrovitch com- menced at last,. " they'll be the death of me, and yet I can't give them up! I am always coughing— a tickling in the throat is setting in, and I am asthmatical. I have been to consult Bptkine ,of late; he examines every one of his patients at least half an hour at a time. After having thumped and bumped me about for ever so long, he told me, amongst other things: 'Tobacco is a bad thing for you — your lungs are affected.' That's all very well, but how am I to go without my tobacco? What am I to use as a substi- tute? Ujifoytunately,, I can't drink,, hah ! hah ! Everything is relative, I suppose, Rodion Romanovitch ? " "There, he is beginning with some more of his silly palaver ! " Raskolnikoff growled to himself. His late inter- view with the magistrate suddenly qccurred to him, at which anger affected his inind. " Did you know, by-the-by, that. I called on you the night before last ? " continueii Porphyrius, looking about. " I was in this very room. I happened to be coming this wSty, just as I am going to-day, and the idea struck me to drop in. 148 Feodor Dostoyevsky Your dooi