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"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 with

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!"