ne o'clock at night, he had slept there quietly all night till eight
o'clock next morning. Of course, there could be no doubt that there was
nothing extraordinary about Fedka's death, and that such careers usually
have such an ending; but the coincidence of the fatal words that "it was
the last time Fedka would drink vodka," with the prompt fulfilment of
the prediction, was so remarkable that Liputin no longer hesitated. The
shock had been given; it was as though a stone had fallen upon him and
crushed him for ever. Returning home, he thrust his travelling-bag under
the bed without a word, and in the evening at the hour fixed he was the
first to appear at the appointed spot to meet Shatov, though it's true
he still had his passport in his pocket.

CHAPTER V. A WANDERER

THE CATASTROPHE WITH Liza and the death of Marya Timofyevna made an
overwhelming impression on Shatov. I have already mentioned that that
morning I met him in passing; he seemed to me not himself. He told me
among other things that on the evening before at nine o'clock (that
is, three hours before the fire had broken out) he had been at Marya
Timofyevna's. He went in the morning to look at the corpses, but as far
as I know gave no evidence of any sort that morning. Meanwhile, towards
the end of the day there was a perfect tempest in his soul, and... I
think I can say with certainty that there was a moment at dusk when he
wanted to get up, go out and tell everything. What that _everything_ was,
no one but he could say. Of course he would have achieved nothing, and
would have simply betrayed himself. He had no proofs whatever with which
to convict the perpetrators of the crime, and, indeed, he had nothing
but vague conjectures to go upon, though to him they amounted to
complete certainty. But he was ready to ruin himself if he could only
"crush the scoundrels"--his own words. Pyotr Stepanovitch had guessed
fairly correctly at this impulse in him, and he knew himself that he
was risking a great deal in putting off the execution of his new
awful project till next day. On his side there was, as usual, great
self-confidence and contempt for all these "wretched creatures" and for
Shatov in particular. He had for years despised Shatov for his "whining
idiocy," as he had expressed it in former days abroad, and he was
absolutely confident that he could deal with such a guileless creature,
that is, keep an eye on him all that day, and put a check on him at th