ible over and over again. Shatov was meaning to betray us; I was
watching him, and it could not be left like that. And you too had
instructions to watch him; you told me so yourself three weeks ago...."

"Hold your tongue! You've done this because he spat in your face in
Geneva!"

"For that and for other things too--for many other things; not from
spite, however. Why do you jump up? Why look like that? Oh oh, so that's
it, is it?"

He jumped up and held out his revolver before him. Kirillov had suddenly
snatched up from the window his revolver, which had been loaded and put
ready since the morning. Pyotr Stepanovitch took up his position and
aimed his weapon at Kirillov. The latter laughed angrily.

"Confess, you scoundrel, that you brought your revolver because I might
shoot you.... But I shan't shoot you... though... though..."

And again he turned his revolver upon Pyotr Stepanovitch, as it were
rehearsing, as though unable to deny himself the pleasure of imagining
how he would shoot him. Pyotr Stepanovitch, holding his ground, waited
for him, waited for him till the last minute without pulling the
trigger, at the risk of being the first to get a bullet in his head: it
might well be expected of "the maniac." But at last "the maniac" dropped
his hand, gasping and trembling and unable to speak.

"You've played your little game and that's enough." Pyotr Stepanovitch,
too, dropped his weapon. "I knew it was only a game; only you ran a
risk, let me tell you: I might have fired."

And he sat down on the sofa with a fair show of composure and poured
himself out some tea, though his hand trembled a little. Kirillov laid
his revolver on the table and began walking up and down.

"I won't write that I killed Shatov... and I won't write anything now.
You won't have a document!"

"I shan't?"

"No, you won't."

"What meanness and what stupidity!" Pyotr Stepanovitch turned green with
resentment. "I foresaw it, though. You've not taken me by surprise, let
me tell you. As you please, however. If I could make you do it by force,
I would. You are a scoundrel, though." Pyotr Stepanovitch was more and
more carried away and unable to restrain himself. "You asked us for
money out there and promised us no end of things.... I won't go away
with nothing, however: I'll see you put the bullet through your brains
first, anyway."

"I want you to go away at once." Kirillov stood firmly before him.

"No, that's impossible." Pyotr St