From high above the roofs of the warehouses the full moon so clearly illuminated the yard that we could see every button on our assailants' coats, and even the puffs of fat Nolenki's breath. He stood panting on the opposite wall of the excavation.
"Halt, or die!" cried Verbitzsky, in a terrible voice.
The bombs were clearly to be seen in his hands. Every policeman in Moscow knew of the destruction done, only six days before, by just such weapons. The foremost men halted instantly. The impetus of those behind brought all together in a bunch—nine expectants of instant death. Verbitzsky spoke again:—
"If any man moves hand or foot, I'll throw these," he cried. "Listen!"
"Why, you fool," said Nolenki, a rather slow-witted man, "you can't escape. Surrender instantly."
He drew his revolver and pointed it at us.
"Michael," said Verbitzsky to me, in that steely voice which I had never before heard from my gentle comrade; "Michael, Nolenki can shoot but one of us before he dies. Take this bomb. Now if he hits me you throw your bomb at him. If he hits you I will throw mine."
"Infernal villains!" gasped the chief; but we could see his pistol wavering.
"Michael," resumed Verbitzsky, "we will give Nolenki a chance for his life. Obey me exactly! Listen! If Dmitry Nolenki does not jump down into this pit before I say five, throw your bomb straight at him! I will, at the moment I say five, throw mine at these rascals."
"Madman!" cried Nolenki. "Do you think to—"