"At what hour did these students arrive in your rooms?"
"I am not certain.—A few minutes—perhaps fifteen—before six."
"Before the hour?"
"Oh yes. We had to wait for Ivan Veliki to stop striking as I was calling out an order to my servant."
"Are you sure that they were all here then?"
Only now, for the first time, a thought that was like a dagger-thrust shot through Ivan. He wondered if the officer saw the color leave his face. Nevertheless his hesitation had been imperceptible when he said, quietly: "They all came in together."
The sergeant turned to his men and shook his head slightly. A few muttered words passed between them, the men seeming to agree with their superior. Then the officer once more faced Ivan, who stood waiting: "Thank you, sir. You have saved your friends from suspicion. Nevertheless I was forced to ask, because the entire Quarter is being searched for the man who, at twelve minutes past six to-night, shot and instantly killed Major Ternoff, assistant secretary of police, as he was driving, in his open droschky, through the Pretchishlensky Boulevard, from the public offices of justice towards his home." And, with a stiff salute, the sergeant, followed by his three men, turned and left the room and the apartment.
Mechanically Ivan closed the door upon them, and then stood staring from the white-faced Sergius to Irina, now supported by a neighbor, who was wetting her face with water from a goblet.
Presently, as if his thoughts had broken unconsciously into words, Ivan muttered, in a low, expressionless voice: "Anarchy!—Murder!—Good God—why didn't they make it my father?"
Then Burevsky rose slowly to his feet. "We all rejoice, Ivan, for and with you, that it was not your father.—And you have saved me—from—from a serious difficulty. If you had told them that I—that I did not come with the others—"