The illusion of that hateful
presence was so perfect that he half expected it to ask, "Is the outer
door closed?" He looked at it with hatred and contempt. Souls do not
take a shape of clothing. Moreover, Haldin could not be dead yet.
Razumov stepped forward menacingly; the vision vanished--and turning
short on his heel he walked out of his room with infinite disdain.
But after going down the first flight of stairs it occurred to him that
perhaps the superior authorities of police meant to confront him with
Haldin in the flesh. This thought struck him like a bullet, and had he
not clung with both hands to the banister he would have rolled down to
the next landing most likely. His legs were of no use for a considerable
time.... But why? For what conceivable reason? To what end?
There could be no rational answer to these questions; but Razumov
remembered the promise made by the General to Prince K---. His action
was to remain unknown.
He got down to the bottom of the stairs, lowering himself as it were
from step to step, by the banister. Under the gate he regained much of
his firmness of thought and limb. He went out into the street without
staggering visibly. Every moment he felt steadier mentally. And yet
he was saying to himself that General T--- was perfectly capable of
shutting him up in the fortress for an indefinite time.
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