He embraced me, and whispered in my ear:
"Go the opposite way from the freight-sheds. Go out toward the Petrovsky Gardens. There are few police there. Run hard after you've walked out under the bridge and around the abutments. You will then be out of hearing."
"Go, dear friend," he said aloud, in a mournful voice. "I may never see you again. Possibly I may have to destroy myself and all here. Go!"
I obeyed precisely, and had not fairly reached the yard's end when Verbitzsky, running very silently, came up beside me.
"I think they must be still fancying that I'm standing over them," he chuckled. "No, they are shooting! Now, out they come!"
From where we now stood in shadow we could see Nolenki and his men rush furiously out from under the bridge. They ran away from us toward the freight-sheds, shouting the alarm, while we calmly walked home to our unsuspected lodgings.
Not till then did I think of the bombs.
"Where are they?" I asked in alarm.
"I left them for the police. They will ruin Nolenki—it was he who sent poor Zina to Siberia and her death."