had not
been removed either; the captain's clothes, too, had not been disturbed.
It was evident that the thief had been in a hurry and was a man familiar
with the captain's circumstances, who had come only for money and knew
where it was kept. If the owner of the house had not run up at that
moment the burning faggot stack would certainly have set fire to the
house and "it would have been difficult to find out from the charred
corpses how they had died."

So the story was told. One other fact was added: that the person who
had taken this house for the Lebyadkins was no other than Mr. Stavrogin,
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, the son of Varvara Petrovna. He had come
himself to take it and had had much ado to persuade the owner to let
it, as the latter had intended to use it as a tavern; but Nikolay
Vsyevolodovitch was ready to give any rent he asked and had paid for six
months in advance.

"The fire wasn't an accident," I heard said in the crowd.

But the majority said nothing. People's faces were sullen, but I did
not see signs of much much indignation. People persisted, however, in
gossiping about Stavrogin, saying that the murdered woman was his wife;
that on the previous day he had "dishonourably" abducted a young lady
belonging to the best family in the place, the daughter of Madame
Drozdov, and that a complaint was to be lodged against him in
Petersburg; and that his wife had been murdered evidently that he might
marry the young lady. Skvoreshniki was not more than a mile and a half
away, and I remember I wondered whether I should not let them know the
position of affairs. I did not notice, however, that there was anyone
egging the crowd on and I don't want to accuse people falsely, though I
did see and recognised at once in the crowd at the fire two or three
of the rowdy lot I had seen in the refreshment-room. I particularly
remember one thin, tall fellow, a cabinet-maker, as I found out later,
with an emaciated face and a curly head, black as though grimed with
soot. He was not drunk, but in contrast to the gloomy passivity of the
crowd seemed beside himself with excitement. He kept addressing the
people, though I don't remember his words; nothing coherent that he said
was longer than "I say, lads, what do you say to this? Are things to go
on like this?" and so saying he waved his arms.

CHAPTER III. A ROMANCE ENDED

FROM THE LARGE BALLROOM of Skvoreshniki (the room in which the last
interview with Varvara