By this time the two friends were hurrying to the dingy little thoroughfare in which Kirski had his lodgings.
"Don't alarm yourself, Edwards," said Brand; "he has broken out again, that is all."
"I am not so sure. He was at his work yesterday, and sober enough."
"His brain may have given way, then; it was never very strong. But these continual ravings about murder or suicide are dangerous; they will develop into homicidal mania, most likely; and if he cannot get at his enemy Michaieloff he may do a mischief to somebody else."
"I hope he has not done a mischief to himself already," said Edwards, who had had more opportunities than his companion of studying the workings of Kirski's disordered brain.
They reached the house and knocked at the door. The landlady made her appearance.
"Is Kirski in the house?" Edwards asked, eagerly.
"No, he ain't," she said, with but scant courtesy.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed, in great relief. "You are sure? He went out to his work as usual?"