f us knew of a proposed political murder, would he, in view
of all the consequences, go to give information, or would he stay at
home and await events? Opinions may differ on this point. The answer
to the question will tell us clearly whether we are to separate, or to
remain together and for far longer than this one evening. Let me appeal
to you first." He turned to the lame man.

"Why to me first?"

"Because you began it all. Be so good as not to prevaricate; it won't
help you to be cunning. But please yourself, it's for you to decide."

"Excuse me, but such a question is positively insulting."

"No, can't you be more exact than that?"

"I've never been an agent of the Secret Police," replied the latter,
wriggling more than ever.

"Be so good as to be more definite, don't keep us waiting."

The lame man was so furious that he left off answering. Without a word
he glared wrathfully from under his spectacles at his tormentor.

"Yes or no? Would you inform or not?" cried Verhovensky.

"Of course I wouldn't," the lame man shouted twice as loudly.

"And no one would, of course not!" cried many voices.

"Allow me to appeal to you, Mr. Major. Would you inform or not?"
Verhovensky went on. "And note that I appeal to you on purpose."

"I won't inform."

"But if you knew that some one meant to rob and murder some one else, an
ordinary mortal, then you would inform and give warning?"

"Yes, of course; but that's a private affair, while the other would be a
political treachery. I've never been an agent of the Secret Police."

"And no one here has," voices cried again. "It's an unnecessary
question. Every one will make the same answer. There are no informers
here."

"What is that gentleman getting up for?" cried the girl-student.

"That's Shatov. What are you getting up for?" cried the lady of the
house.

Shatov did, in fact, stand up. He was holding his cap in his hand and
looking at Verhovensky. Apparently he wanted to say something to him,
but was hesitating. His face was pale and wrathful, but he controlled
himself. He did not say one word, but in silence walked towards the
door.

"Shatov, this won't make things better for you!" Verhovensky called
after him enigmatically.

"But it will for you, since you are a spy and a scoundrel!" Shatov
shouted to him from the door, and he went out.

Shouts and exclamations again.

"That's what comes of a test," cried a voice.

"It's been of use," cried another.