I live with," muttered Kirillov. "Go
in."

They had hardly entered when Verhovensky at once took out of his pocket
the anonymous letter he had taken from Lembke, and laid it before
Stavrogin. They all then sat down. Stavrogin read the letter in silence.

"Well?" he asked.

"That scoundrel will do as he writes," Verhovensky explained. "So, as
he is under your control, tell me how to act. I assure you he may go to
Lembke to-morrow."

"Well, let him go."

"Let him go! And when we can prevent him, too!"

"You are mistaken. He is not dependent on me. Besides, I don't care; he
doesn't threaten me in any way; he only threatens you."

"You too."

"I don't think so."

"But there are other people who may not spare you. Surely you understand
that? Listen, Stavrogin. This is only playing with words. Surely you
don't grudge the money?"

"Why, would it cost money?"

"It certainly would; two thousand or at least fifteen hundred. Give it
to me to-morrow or even to-day, and to-morrow evening I'll send him to
Petersburg for you. That's just what he wants. If you like, he can take
Marya Timofyevna. Note that."

There was something distracted about him. He spoke, as it were, without
caution, and he did not reflect on his words. Stavrogin watched him,
wondering.

"I've no reason to send Marya Timofyevna away."

"Perhaps you don't even want to," Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled ironically.

"Perhaps I don't."

"In short, will there be the money or not?" he cried with angry
impatience, and as it were peremptorily, to Stavrogin. The latter
scrutinised him gravely. "There won't be the money."

"Look here, Stavrogin! You know something, or have done something
already! You are going it!"

His face worked, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he suddenly
laughed an unprovoked and irrelevant laugh.

"But you've had money from your father for the estate," Stavrogin
observed calmly. "Maman sent you six or eight thousand for Stepan
Trofimovitch. So you can pay the fifteen hundred out of your own money.
I don't care to pay for other people. I've given a lot as it is.
It annoys me...." He smiled himself at his own words. "Ah, you are
beginning to joke!"

Stavrogin got up from his chair. Verhovensky instantly jumped up too,
and mechanically stood with his back to the door as though barring the
way to him. Stavrogin had already made a motion to push him aside and go
out, when he stopped short.

"I won't give up Shatov to you," he