Verhovensky turned to the general company with a capitally simulated look of alarm.
"Gentlemen, I deem it my duty to declare that all this is folly, and that our conversation has gone too far.
I have so far initiated no one, and no one has the right to say of me that I initiate members. We were simply discussing our opinions.
That's so, isn't it?
But whether that's so or not, you alarm me very much." He turned to the lame man again. "I had no idea that it was unsafe here to speak of such practically innocent matters except tete-a-tete.
Are you afraid of informers?
Can there possibly be an informer among us here?"
The excitement became tremendous; all began talking.
"Gentlemen, if that is so," Verhovensky went on, "I have compromised myself more than anyone, and so I will ask you to answer one question, if you care to, of course.
You are all perfectly free."
"What question? What question?" every one clamoured.
"A question that will make it clear whether we are to remain together, or take up our hats and go our several ways without speaking."
"The question! The question!"
"If any one of us knew of a proposed political murder, would he, in view of all the consequences, go to give information, or would he stay at home and await events?
Opinions may differ on this point.
The answer to the question will tell us clearly whether we are to separate, or to remain together and for far longer than this one evening.
Let me appeal to you first." He turned to the lame man.
"Why to me first?"
"Because you began it all.
Be so good as not to prevaricate; it won't help you to be cunning.
But please yourself, it's for you to decide."
"Excuse me, but such a question is positively insulting."
"No, can't you be more exact than that?"
"I've never been an agent of the Secret Police," replied the latter, wriggling more than ever.
"Be so good as to be more definite, don't keep us waiting."
The lame man was so furious that he left off answering.
Without a word he glared wrathfully from under his spectacles at his tormentor.
"Yes or no?
Would you inform or not?" cried Verhovensky.
"Of course I wouldn't," the lame man shouted twice as loudly.
"And no one would, of course not!" cried many voices.
"Allow me to appeal to you, Mr. Major. Would you inform or not?" Verhovensky went on.
"And note that I appeal to you on purpose."
"I won't inform."
"But if you knew that someone meant to rob and murder someone else, an ordinary mortal, then you would inform and give warning?"
"Yes, of course; but that's a private affair, while the other would be a political treachery.
I've never been an agent of the Secret Police."
"And no one here has," voices cried again.
"It's an unnecessary question.
Every one will make the same answer.
There are no informers here."
"What is that gentleman getting up for?" cried the girl-student.
"That's Shatov.
What are you getting up for?" cried the lady of the house.
Shatov did, in fact, stand up. He was holding his cap in his hand and looking at Verhovensky.
Apparently he wanted to say something to him, but was hesitating.
His face was pale and wrathful, but he controlled himself. He did not say one word, but in silence walked towards the door.
"Shatov, this won't make things better for you!" Verhovensky called after him enigmatically.
"But it will for you, since you are a spy and a scoundrel!" Shatov shouted to him from the door, and he went out.
Shouts and exclamations again.