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〃Damn it all。 There's nothing to be done； we must go！〃
〃Stay！〃 cried the young man suddenly。 〃Do you see how the door
shakes if you pull it？〃
〃Well？〃
〃That shows it's not locked； but fastened with the hook！ Do you hear
how the hook clanks？〃
〃Well？〃
〃Why； don't you see？ That proves that one of them is at home。 If
they were all out； they would have locked the door from the outside
with the key and not with the hook from inside。 There； do you hear how
the hook is clanking？ To fasten the hook on the inside they must be at
home； don't you see。 So there they are sitting inside and don't open
the door！〃
〃Well！ And so they must be！〃 cried Koch； astonished。 〃What are
they about in there！〃 And he began furiously shaking the door。
〃Stay！〃 cried the young man again。 〃Don't pull at it！ There must
be something wrong。。。。。 Here； you've been ringing and pulling at the
door and still they don't open！ So either they've both fainted or。。。〃
〃What？〃
〃I tell you what。 Let's go fetch the porter； let him wake them up。〃
〃All right。〃
Both were going down。
〃Stay。 You stop here while I run down for the porter。〃
〃What for？〃
〃Well； you'd better。〃
〃All right。〃
〃I'm studying the law you see！ It's evident； e…vi…dent there's
something wrong here！〃 the young man cried hotly； and he ran
downstairs。
Koch remained。 Once more he softly touched the bell which gave one
tinkle； then gently； as though reflecting and looking about him； began
touching the door…handle pulling it and letting it go to make sure
once more that it was only fastened by the hook。 Then puffing and
panting he bent down and began looking at the keyhole； but the key was
in the lock on the inside and so nothing could be seen。
Raskolnikov stood keeping tight hold of the axe。 He was in a sort of
delirium。 He was even making ready to fight when they should come
in。 While they were knocking and talking together； the idea several
times occurred to him to end it all at once and shout to them
through the door。 Now and then he was tempted to swear at them； to
jeer at them； while they could not open the door！ 〃Only make haste！〃
was the thought that flashed through his mind。
〃But what the devil is he about？。。。〃 Time was passing； one minute；
and another… no one came。 Koch began to be restless。
〃What the devil？〃 he cried suddenly and in impatience deserting
his sentry duty； he； too； went down； hurrying and thumping his heavy
boots on the stairs。 The steps died away。
〃Good heavens！ What am I to do？〃
Raskolnikov unfastened the hook； opened the door… there was no
sound。 Abruptly； without any thought at all； he went out； closing
the door as thoroughly as he could； and went downstairs。
He had gone down three flights when he suddenly heard a loud voice
below… where could he go！ There was nowhere to hide。 He was just going
back to the flat。
〃Hey there！ Catch the brute！〃
Somebody dashed out of a flat below； shouting； and rather fell
than ran down the stairs； bawling at the top of his voice。
〃Mitka！ Mitka！ Mitka！ Mitka！ Mitka！ Blast him！〃
The shout ended in a shriek； the last sounds came from the yard； all
was still。 But at the same instant several men talking loud and fast
began noisily mounting the stairs。 There were three or four of them。
He distinguished the ringing voice of the young man。 〃They！〃
Filled with despair he went straight to meet them； feeling 〃come
what must！〃 If they stopped him… all was lost； if they let him pass…
all was lost too； they would remember him。 They were approaching； they
were only a flight from him… and suddenly deliverance！ A few steps
from him on the right； there was an empty flat with the door wide
open； the flat on the second floor where the painters had been at
work； and which； as though for his benefit； they had just left。 It was
they； no doubt； who had just run down； shouting。 The floor had only
just been painted； in the middle of the room stood a pail and a broken
pot with paint and brushes。 In one instant he had whisked in at the
open door and hidden behind the wall and only in the nick of time；
they had already reached the landing。 Then they turned and went on
up to the fourth floor； talking loudly。 He waited； went out on
tiptoe and ran down the stairs。
No one was on the stairs； nor in the gateway。 He passed quickly
through the gateway and turned to the left in the street。
He knew； he knew perfectly well that at that moment they were at the
flat； that they were greatly astonished at finding it unlocked； as the
door had just been fastened； that by now they were looking at the
bodies； that before another minute had passed they would guess and
completely realise that the murderer had just been there； and had
succeeded in hiding somewhere； slipping by them and escaping。 They
would guess most likely that he had been in the empty flat； while they
were going upstairs。 And meanwhile he dared not quicken his pace much；
though the next turning was still nearly a hundred yards away。 〃Should
he slip through some gateway and wait somewhere in an unknown
street？ No； hopeless！ Should he fling away the axe？ Should he take a
cab？ Hopeless； hopeless！〃
At last he reached the turning。 He turned down it more dead than
alive。 Here he was half way to safety； and here understood it； it
was less risky because there was a great crowd of people； and he was
lost in it like a grain of sand。 But all he had suffered had so
weakened him that he could scarcely move。 Perspiration ran down him in
drops； his neck was all wet。 〃My word； he has been going it！〃 some one
shouted at him when he came out on the canal bank。
He was only dimly conscious of himself now； and the farther he
went the worse it was。 He remembered however； that on coming out on to
the canal bank； he was alarmed at finding few people there and so
being more conspicuous； and he had thought of turning back。 Though
he was almost falling from fatigue； he went a long way round so as
to get home from quite a different direction。
He was not fully conscious when he passed through the gateway of his
house！ he was already on the staircase before he recollected the
axe。 And yet he had a very grave problem before him； to put it back
and to escape observation as far as possible in doing so。 He was of
course incapable of reflecting that it might perhaps be far better not
to restore the axe at all； but to drop it later on in somebody's yard。
But it all happened fortunately； the door of the porter's room was
closed but not locked； so that it seemed most likely that the porter
was at home。 But he had so completely lost all power of reflection
that he walked straight to the door and opened it。 If the porter had
asked him 〃What do you want？〃 he would perhaps have simply handed
him the axe。 But again the porter was not at home； and he succeeded in
putting the axe back under the bench； and even covering it with the
chunk of wood as before。 He met no one； not a soul； afterwards on
the way to his room； the landlady's door was shut。 When he was in
his room； he flung himself on the sofa just as he was… he did not
sleep； but sank into blank forgetf