The clerk glanced at him—without, however, any particular curiosity. He was a man with unkempt hair and an expressionless face.
"There is nothing to be learned from him, evidently," thought
Raskolnikoff.
"Step in there to the head clerk," said the man, pointing to a farther room, which was quite full of people, among whom were two ladies.
The assistant district officer, a man adorned with red whiskers standing out on either side of his face, and with extremely small features, looked up impatiently at Raskolnikoff, whose filthy attire was by no means prepossessing. The latter returned his glance calmly and straight in the face, and in such a manner as to give the officer offense.
"What do you want here?" he cried, apparently surprised that such a ragged beggar was not knocked down by his thunder-bearing glance.
"I am here because I was summoned," stammered Raskolnikoff.
"It is for the recovery of money lent," said the head clerk.
"Here!" and he threw a paper to Raskolnikoff, "Read!"
"Money? What money? It cannot be that," thought the young man, and he trembled with joy. Everything became clear, and the load fell off his shoulders.
"At what hour did you receive this, sir?" cried the lieutenant; "you were told to come at nine o'clock, and now it is nearly twelve!"
"I received it a quarter of an hour ago," loudly replied Raskolnikoff, over his shoulder, suddenly angered, "and it is sufficient to say that I am ill with a fever."