When he returned with the candle he found a young officer standing there; he did not know his name but he had seen him before.
“Erkel,” said the lad, introducing himself. “You’ve seen me at Virginsky’s.”
“I remember; you sat writing. Listen,” said Shatov in sudden excitement, going up to him frantically, but still talking in a whisper. “You gave me a sign just now when you took my hand. But you know I can treat all these signals with contempt! I don’t acknowledge them.… I don’t want them.… I can throw you downstairs this minute, do you know that?”
“No, I know nothing about that and I don’t know what you are in such a rage about,” the visitor answered without malice and almost ingenuously. “I have only to give you a message, and that’s what I’ve come for, being particularly anxious not to lose time. You have a printing press which does not belong to you, and of which you are bound to give an account, as you know yourself. I have received instructions to request you to give it up to-morrow at seven o’clock in the evening to Liputin. I have been instructed to tell you also that nothing more will be asked of you.”
“Nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing. Your request is granted, and you are struck off our list. I was instructed to tell you that positively.”
“Who instructed you to tell me?”
“Those who told me the sign.”
“Have you come from abroad?”
“I … I think that’s no matter to you.”