He stopped as if paralyzed. I suppose he had suddenly understood that the explosion of a bomb in that small, high-walled yard would kill every man in it.
"One!" cried Verbitzsky.
"But I may not hit him!" said I.
"No matter. If it explodes within thirty feet of him he will move no more."
I took one step forward and raised the bomb. Did I mean to throw it? I do not know. I think not. But I knew we must make the threat or be captured and hung. And I felt certain that the bomb would be exploded anyway when Verbitzsky should say "Five." He would then throw his, and mine would explode by the concussion.
"Two!" said Verbitzsky.
Dmitry Nolenki had lowered his pistol. He glanced behind him uneasily.
"If he runs, throw it!" said Verbitzsky, loudly. "THREE!"
The chief of the Moscow secret police was reputed a brave man, but he was only a cruel one. Now his knees trembled so that we could see them shake, and his teeth chattered in the still cold night. Verbitzsky told me afterward that he feared the man's slow brain had become so paralyzed by fright that he might not be able to think and obey and jump down. That would have placed my comrade and me in a dreadful dilemma, but quite a different one from what you may suppose.