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"If anyone had come in, what would he have thought? That I'm

drunk but..."

He rushed to the window. There was light enough, and he began

hurriedly looking himself all over from head to foot, all his

clothes; were there no traces? But there was no doing it like

that; shivering with cold, he began taking off everything and

looking over again. He turned everything over to the last threads

and rags, and mistrusting himself, went through his search three

times.

But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one place,

where some thick drops of congealed blood were clinging to the

frayed edge of his trousers. He picked up a big claspknife and

cut off the frayed threads. There seemed to be nothing more.