"To-day I'm going to make an end of Sasha. I'll go there at once and shoot him." In a moment he was already compelled to persuade himself: "It's got to be done. As for me, nothing matters to me any more."
Dismissing the cabman he walked into a restaurant, to which Sasha came less frequently than to the others. He stopped in front of the door of the room where the spies gathered.
"The instant I see him, I'll shoot him," he said to himself.
He knocked at the door tremulously, and felt the revolver in his hand. His soul was congealed in cold expectation.
"Who's there?" asked someone on the other side of the door.
"I."
The door was opened a little. In the chink flashed the eyes and reddish little nose of Solovyov.
"Ah-h-h!" he drawled in amazement. "There was a rumor that you had been killed."
"No, I have not been killed," Klimkov responded sullenly, removing his coat.
"I see. Lock the door. They say you went with Melnikov—"