He began hurrying so much that he did not even run over to see Kirillov and only called the old woman out. Marie was in despair and indignation that he "could even think of leaving her alone."

"But," he cried rapturously, "this is the very last step! And then the new path, and we'll never, ever remember the old horror!"

He somehow managed to convince her and promised to be back at nine o'clock sharp; he gave her a big kiss, kissed the baby, and quickly ran down to Erkel.

The two men set off for Stavrogin's park at Skvoreshniki, where about a year and a half earlier, in a solitary place at the very edge of the park where the pine forest already began, he had buried the printing press that had been entrusted to him. The place was wild and deserted, totally inconspicuous, quite far from the Skvoreshniki house. It was about a two-mile walk from Filippov's house, maybe even two and a half.

"Not on foot, really? I'll hire a carriage."

"I beg you very much not to," Erkel objected, "they precisely insisted on that. A driver is also a witness."

"Well... the devil! No matter, just to be done with it, done with it!"

They were walking very quickly.

"Erkel, you little boy, you!" Shatov cried out, "have you ever been happy?"

"And you seem to be very happy now," Erkel observed with curiosity.

6: A Toilsome Night

I

V'irginsky, in the course of the day, employed two hours in running around to see all our people and tell them that Shatov was certainly not going to denounce them, because his wife had come back to him and a child had been born, and, "knowing the human heart," it was impossible to suppose he could be dangerous at that moment. But, to his disconcertion, he found almost no one home except Erkel and Lyamshin. Erkel listened to him silently, gazing serenely into his eyes; and to the direct question: "Would he go at six o'clock or not?" replied, with the most serene smile, that "of course he would."

Lyamshin was in bed, apparently quite seriously sick, with his head wrapped in a blanket. When Virginsky came in, he got scared and, as soon as he began to speak, suddenly started waving his hands from under the blanket, pleading to be left alone. However, he listened to everything about Shatov; for some reason, the news that no one was home struck him greatly. It also turned out that he already knew (through Liputin) about Fedka's death, and hurriedly and incoherently told Virginsky about it himself, thereby striking him in his turn. And to Virginsky's direct question: "Should we go or not?" he again started pleading, waving his hands, that he was "not concerned, knew nothing, and to leave him alone."

Virginsky returned home dispirited and greatly alarmed; what made it hard for him was that he also had to conceal it from his family; he was used to revealing everything to his wife, and had it not been for a new thought, a certain new, conciliatory plan for further action which lit up in his inflamed brain at that moment, he might have taken to his bed like Lyamshin. But the new thought strengthened him; what's more, he even began waiting impatiently for the time, and set out for the gathering place even earlier than necessary.

It was a very dark place, at the end of the huge Stavrogin park. Afterwards I went there on purpose to have a look; how dismal it must have seemed on that harsh autumn evening! It was the edge of an old forest preserve; in the darkness, huge, century-old pines loomed as dark and dim shapes. It was so dark that it was almost impossible for them to make each other out from two steps away, but Pyotr Stepanovich, Liputin, and then Erkel brought lanterns with them. In time immemorial, no one knew why or when, a rather ridiculous sort of grotto had been built there from wild, unhewn stones. The table and benches inside the grotto had long since rotted and fallen apart. About two hundred paces to the right was the tip of the park's third pond. These three ponds, starting right from the house, followed one another, stretching over half a mile, right to the end of the park. It was hard to suppose that a noise, a cry, or even a shot, could reach the inhabitants of the abandoned Stavrogin house. Since Nikolai Vsevolodovich's departure the day before, and with the absence of Alexei Yegorych, there were no more than five or six inhabitants left in the whole house, of an invalid sort, so to speak. In any case, one could suppose with almost full probability that even if screams and cries for help were to be heard by one of these secluded inhabitants, they would evoke only fear, but not one of them would stir from their warm stoves and warmed-up benches to help.

At twenty minutes past six almost everyone except Erkel, who had been dispatched to bring Shatov, turned out to have gathered. This time Pyotr Stepanovich did not tarry; he arrived with Tolkachenko. Tolkachenko was scowling and preoccupied; all his affected and insolently boastful resolution had vanished. He almost never left Pyotr Stepanovich's side and seemed to have become boundlessly devoted to him; he kept coming at him, frequently and fussily, with his whisperings; but the latter scarcely replied, or vexedly muttered something to get rid of him.

Shigalyov and Virginsky arrived even somewhat earlier than Pyotr Stepanovich, and at his arrival immediately drew somewhat apart in profound and obviously deliberate silence. Pyotr Stepanovich raised his lantern and looked them over with unceremonious and insulting attentiveness. "They want to talk," flashed in his head.

"No Lyamshin?" he asked Virginsky. "Who said he was sick?"

"I'm here," Lyamshin responded, suddenly stepping from behind a tree. He was wearing a warm coat and was tightly wrapped in a plaid, so that it was hard to make out his physiognomy even with a lantern.

"So, just no Liputin?"

And Liputin silently came out of the grotto. Pyotr Stepanovich again raised the lantern.

"Why were you hiding in there, why didn't you come out?"

"I suppose we all retain the right to freedom ... of our movements," Liputin began to mutter, though probably not quite understanding what he wished to express.

"Gentlemen," Pyotr Stepanovich raised his voice, breaking the half-whisper for the first time, which produced its effect, "you understand very well, I believe, that there's no point in us smearing it around anymore. Everything was said and chewed over yesterday, directly and definitely. But perhaps, as I can see by your physiognomies, someone would like to state something; if so, I ask you to be quick. Devil take it, we don't have much time; Erkel may bring him any moment ..."

"He's certain to bring him," Tolkachenko put in for some reason.

"If I'm not mistaken, the handing over of the press will take place first?" Liputin inquired, again as if not understanding why he was asking the question.

"Well, of course, there's no point in losing things," Pyotr Stepanovich raised the lantern to his face. "But we did all agree yesterday that we needn't actually take it. Let him just show you the spot where he buried it; we'll dig it up later ourselves. I know it's somewhere ten paces from some corner of the grotto... But, devil take it, how could you forget, Liputin? It was agreed that you'd meet him alone, and we'd come out only after that... It's strange you're asking, or was it just so?"

Liputin kept gloomily silent. Everyone fell silent. The wind swayed the tops of the pines.

"I trust, however, gentlemen, that everyone will do his duty," Pyotr Stepanovich broke off impatiently.