his gaze on the floor. "For indeed, unless one...."

He broke off evidently waiting for a word. Razumov remained silent.
Haldin nodded his head dejectedly twice.

"Of course. Of course," he murmured.... "Ah! weary work!"

He remained perfectly still for a moment, then made Razumov's leaden
heart strike a ponderous blow by springing up briskly.

"So be it," he cried sadly in a low, distinct tone. "Farewell then."

Razumov started forward, but the sight of Haldin's raised hand checked
him before he could get away from the table. He leaned on it heavily,
listening to the faint sounds of some town clock tolling the hour.
Haldin, already at the door, tall and straight as an arrow, with his
pale face and a hand raised attentively, might have posed for the statue
of a daring youth listening to an inner voice. Razumov mechanically
glanced down at his watch. When he looked towards the door again Haldin
had vanished. There was a faint rustling in the outer room, the feeble
click of a bolt drawn back lightly. He was gone--almost as noiseless as
a vision.

Razumov ran forward unsteadily, with parted, voiceless lips. The outer
door stood open. Staggering out on the landing, he leaned far over the
banister. Gazing down into the deep black shaft with a tiny glimmering
flame at the bottom, he traced by ear the rapid spiral descent of
somebody running down the stairs on tiptoe. It was a light, swift,
pattering sound, which sank away from him into the depths: a fleeting
shadow passed over the glimmer--a wink of the tiny flame. Then