v's writing and compare it. You must
have some signature of his in your office. As for its being addressed to
Kirillov, it was Kirillov himself showed it me at the time."

"Then you were yourself..."

"Of course I was, myself. They showed me lots of things out there. And
as for this poem, they say it was written by Herzen to Shatov when he
was still wandering abroad, in memory of their meeting, so they say, by
way of praise and recommendation--damn it all... and Shatov circulates
it among the young people as much as to say, 'This was Herzen's opinion
of me.'

"Ha ha!" cried Lembke, feeling he had got to the bottom of it at last.
"That's just what I was wondering: one can understand the manifesto, but
what's the object of the poem?"

"Of course you'd see it. Goodness knows why I've been babbling to you.
Listen. Spare Shatov for me and the rest may go to the devil--even
Kirillov, who is in hiding now, shut up in Filipov's house, where Shatov
lodges too. They don't like me because I've turned round... but promise
me Shatov and I'll dish them all up for you. I shall be of use, Andrey
Antonovitch! I reckon nine or ten men make up the whole wretched lot. I
am keeping an eye on them myself, on my own account. We know of three
already: Shatov, Kirillov, and that sub-lieutenant. The others I am only
watching carefully... though I am pretty sharp-sighted too. It's the
same over again as it was in the X province: two students, a schoolboy,
two noblemen of twenty, a teacher, and a half-pay major of sixty, crazy
with drink, have been caught with manifestoes; that was all--you can
take my word for it, that was all; it was quite a surprise that that
was all. But I must have six days. I have reckoned it out--six days, not
less. If you want to arrive at any result, don't disturb them for six
days and I can kill all the birds with one stone for you; but if you
flutter them before, the birds will fly away. But spare me Shatov. I
speak for Shatov.... The best plan would be to fetch him here secretly,
in a friendly way, to your study and question him without disguising
the facts.... I have no doubt he'll throw himself at your feet and burst
into tears! He is a highly strung and unfortunate fellow; his wife
is carrying on with Stavrogin. Be kind to him and he will tell you
everything, but I must have six days.... And, above all, above all, not
a word to Yulia Mihailovna. It's a secret. May it be a secret?"

"What?" cried Lembke, opening