Demons

"What do you think you're doing?" Pyotr Stepanovich rolled into the downstairs. "Why didn't you stay where you were ordered to?"

And he swung and banged his fist on the table.

Fedka assumed a dignified air.

"You wait, Pyotr Stepanovich, you wait," he began to speak, jauntily emphasizing each word, "here firstly you must understand that you're at a noble visit with Mr. Kirillov, Alexei Nilych, whose boots are always there for you to polish, since he's an educated mind before you, and you're just—pfui!"

And he jauntily spat over his shoulder. One could see arrogance, resoluteness, and a certain rather dangerous, affected, calm casuistry before the first explosion. But Pyotr Stepanovich was beyond noticing any danger, which, besides, did not fit with his view of things. The events and failures of the day had him totally in a whirl... Liputin was peeking curiously down the three steps from the dark closet.

"Do you or do you not want to have a proper passport and good money to travel where you were told. Yes or no?"

"You see, Pyotr Stepanovich, you began deceiving me from the very first begi

Pyotr Stepanovich became exceedingly wrathful.

"Speak, did you see Stavrogin today?"

"There's one thing you daren't ever to do—to question me. Mr. Stavrogin, as he lives, stands amazed before you, nor took part by his wishes, to say nothing of any orders or money. Me you dared."

"You'll get the money, and you'll also get the two thousand, in Petersburg, on the spot, the whole sum, and still more."

"You're lying, my gentle sir, and it's fu

"And do you know," Pyotr Stepanovich flew into a rage, "that I won't let you take a step out of here, you scoundrel, and will hand you straight over to the police?"

Fedka jumped to his feet and flashed his eyes furiously. Pyotr Stepanovich snatched out his revolver. Here a quick and repulsive scene took place: before Pyotr Stepanovich could aim the revolver, Fedka instantly swerved and struck him in the face with all his might. At the same moment another terrible blow was heard, then a third, a fourth, all in the face. Crazed, his eyes goggling, Pyotr Stepanovich muttered something and suddenly crashed full-length to the floor.

"There he is, take him!" Fedka cried with a victorious flourish, instantly grabbed his cap, his bundle from under the bench, and made himself scarce. Pyotr Stepanovich lay gasping, unconscious. Liputin even thought a murder had taken place. Kirillov rushed headlong down to the kitchen.

"Water on him!" he cried, and scooping some from a bucket with an iron dipper, he poured it over his head. Pyotr Stepanovich stirred, raised his head, sat up, and looked senselessly in front of him.

"Well, how's that?" asked Kirillov.

The man went on looking at him intently and still without recognition; but catching sight of Liputin, who stuck himself out from the kitchen, he smiled his nasty smile and suddenly jumped up, snatching the revolver from the floor.

"If you decide to run away tomorrow like that scoundrel Stavrogin," he flew at Kirillov in a frenzy, all pale, stammering and articulating his words imprecisely, "I'll hang you like a fly... squash you ... at the other end of the globe... understand!"

And he pointed the revolver straight at Kirillov's forehead; but at almost the same moment, recovering his senses completely at last, he jerked his hand back, shoved the revolver into his pocket, and, without another word, went ru

"Well?" he turned to Liputin with a challenge.

Liputin remembered the revolver and was still trembling all over from the scene that had taken place; but the answer somehow suddenly and irrepressibly jumped off his tongue of itself:

"I think ... I think that 'from Smolensk to far Tashkent they're not so impatiently awaiting the student.’”

"And did you see what Fedka was drinking in the kitchen?"

"What he was drinking? He was drinking vodka."

"Well, know that he was drinking vodka for the last time in his life. I recommend that you remember that for your further considerations. And now, go to the devil, you're not needed until tomorrow... But watch out: no foolishness!"

Liputin rushed headlong for home.

IV

He had long kept ready a passport in a different name. It is wild even to think that this precise little man, a petty family tyrant, a functionary in any case (though a Fourierist), and, finally, before all else, a capitalist and moneylender—had long, long ago conceived within himself the fantastic notion of readying this passport just in case, so as to slip abroad with its help if. . .so he did allow for the possibility of this if! though, of course, he himself was never able to formulate precisely what this if might signify...