money of my own lying idle. Why shouldn't I--even I--work for the common
cause? Besides, the idea somehow occurred to me all at once of itself.
I didn't invent it at all, and was delighted with it. But I saw at
once that I couldn't get on without some one to help, because I am not
competent to do anything of myself. My helper, of course, would be the
co-editor of the book. We would go halves. You would give the plan and
the work. Mine would be the original idea and the means for publishing
it. Would the book pay its expenses, do you think?"

"If we hit on a good plan the book will go."

"I warn you that I am not doing it for profit; but I am very anxious
that the book should circulate and should be very proud of making a
profit."

"Well, but how do I come in?"

"Why, I invite you to be my fellow-worker, to go halves. You will think
out the plan."

"How do you know that I am capable of thinking out the plan?"

"People have talked about you to me, and here I've heard
... I know that you are very clever and... are working for the cause ...
and think a great deal. Pyotr Stepanovitch Verhovensky spoke about you
in Switzerland," she added hurriedly. "He's a very clever man, isn't
he?"

Shatov stole a fleeting, momentary glance at her, but dropped his eyes
again.

"Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch told me a great deal about you, too."

Shatov suddenly turned red.

"But here are the newspapers." Liza hurriedly picked up from a chair
a bundle of newspapers that lay tied up ready. "I've tried to mark
the facts here for selection, to sort them, and I have put the papers
together... you will see."

Shatov took the bundle.

"Take them home and look at them. Where do you live?"

"In Bogoyavlensky Street, Filipov's house."

"I know. I think it's there, too, I've been told, a captain lives,
beside you, Mr. Lebyadkin," said Liza in the same hurried manner.

Shatov sat for a full minute with the bundle in his outstretched hand,
making no answer and staring at the floor.

"You'd better find some one else for these jobs. I shouldn't suit you at
all," he brought out at last, dropping his voice in an awfully strange
way, almost to a whisper.

Liza flushed crimson.

"What jobs are you speaking of? Mavriky Nikolaevitch," she cried,
"please bring that letter here."

I too followed Mavriky Nikolaevitch to the table.

"Look at this," she turned suddenly to me, unfolding the letter in great
excitement. "Have you ever seen anythin