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Raskolnikov, white as a handkerchief, had answered sharply,

jerkily, without dropping his black feverish eyes before Ilya

Petrovitch's stare.

"He can scarcely stand upright. And you..." Nikodim Fomitch was

beginning.

"No matter," Ilya Petrovitch pronounced rather peculiarly.

Nikodim Fomitch would have made some further protest, but

glancing at the head clerk who was looking very hard at him, he

did not speak. There was a sudden silence. It was strange.

"Very well, then," concluded Ilya Petrovitch, "we will not detain

you."

Raskolnikov went out. He caught the sound of eager conversation

on his departure, and above the rest rose the questioning voice

of Nikodim Fomitch. In the street, his faintness passed off

completely.

"A search--there will be a search at once," he repeated to

himself, hurrying home. "The brutes! they suspect."

His former terror mastered him completely again.

CHAPTER II

"And what if there has been a search already? What if I find them

in my room?"