“We have got him--_ce miserable_. A worthy young man came to me--No!
It’s incredible....”
Razumov held his breath before the bronze as if expecting a crash.
Behind his back a voice he had never heard before insisted politely--
“_Asseyez-vous donc_.”
The Prince almost shrieked, “_Mais comprenez-vous, mon cher!
L’assassin_! the murderer--we have got him....”
Razumov spun round. The General’s smooth big cheeks rested on the stiff
collar of his uniform. He must have been already looking at Razumov,
because that last saw the pale blue eyes fastened on him coldly.
The Prince from a chair waved an impressive hand.
“This is a most honourable young man whom Providence itself... Mr.
Razumov.”
The General acknowledged the introduction by frowning at Razumov, who
did not make the slightest movement.
Sitting down before his desk the General listened with compressed lips.
It was impossible to detect any sign of emotion on his face.
Razumov watched the immobility of the fleshy profile. But it lasted only
a moment, till the Prince had finished; and when the General turned to
the providential young man, his florid complexion, the blue, unbelieving
eyes and the bright white flash of an automatic smile had an air of
jovial, careless cruelty. He expressed no wonder at the extraordinary
story--no pleasure or excitement--no incredulity either. He betrayed no
sentiment whatever. Only with a politeness almost deferential suggested
that “the bird might have flown while Mr.--Mr. Razumov was running about
the streets.”
Razumov advanced to the middle of the room and said, “The door is locked
and I have the key in my pocket.”
His loathing for the man was intense. It had come upon him so unawares
that he felt he had not kept it out of his voice. The General looked up
at him thoughtfully, and Razumov grinned.
All this went over the head of Prince K--- seated in a deep armchair,
very tired and impatient.
“A student called Haldin,” said the General thoughtfully.
Razumov ceased to grin.
“That is his name,” he said unnecessarily loud. “Victor Victorovitch
Haldin--a student.”
The General shifted his position a little.
“How is he dressed? Would you have the goodness to tell me?”
Razumov angrily described Haldin’s clothing in a few jerky words. The
General stared all the time, then addressing the Prince--
“We were not without some indications,” he said in French. “A good woman
who was in the street described to us somebody wearing a dress of the
sort as the thrower of the second bomb. We have detained her at the
Secretariat, and every one in a Tcherkess coat we could lay our hands
on has been brought to her to look at. She kept on crossing herself
and shaking her head at them. It was exasperating....” He turned to
Razumov, and in Russian, with friendly reproach--
“Take a chair, Mr. Razumov--do. Why are you standing?”
Razumov sat down carelessly and looked at the General.
“This goggle-eyed imbecile understands nothing,” he thought.
The Prince began to speak loftily.
“Mr. Razumov is a young man of conspicuous abilities. I have it at heart
that his future should not....”
“Certainly,” interrupted the General, with a movement of the hand. “Has
he any weapons on him, do you think, Mr. Razumov?”
The General employed a gentle musical voice. Razumov answered with
suppressed irritation--
“No. But my razors are lying about--you understand.”
The General lowered his head approvingly.
“Precisely.”