"You're like the man who is surprised that a tiny spark can blow a whole powder magazine sky-high."
"I was talking in a whisper, and in a corner, into his ear, how could you have found out?" Tolkachenko suddenly realized.
"I was sitting there under the table. Don't worry, gentlemen, I know all your steps. You're smiling craftily, Mr. Liputin? Yet I know, for example, that three days ago you pinched your wife all over, at midnight, in your bedroom, as you were going to bed."
Liputin gaped and went pale.
(Afterwards it became known that he had learned of Liputin's exploit from Agafya, Liputin's maid, whom he had paid money to spy for him from the very beginning, as came to light only later.)
"May I state a fact?" Shigalyov suddenly rose.
"State it."
Shigalyov sat down and braced himself.
"So far as I have understood, and one could hardly not understand, you yourself, at the beginning and then a second time, rather eloquently—albeit too theoretically—developed a picture of Russia covered with an infinite network of knots. For its own part, each of the active groups, while proselytizing and spreading its side-branchings to infinity, has as its task, by a systematic denunciatory propaganda, ceaselessly to undermine the importance of the local powers, to produce bewilderment in communities, to engender cynicism and scandal, complete disbelief in anything whatsoever, a yearning for the better, and, finally, acting by means of fires as the popular means par excellence, to plunge the country, at the prescribed moment, if need be, even into despair. Are these your words, which I have tried to recall verbatim? Is this your program of action, conveyed by you as a representative of the central—but hitherto completely unknown and, to us, almost fantastic—committee?"
"Correct, only you're dragging it out a lot."
"Everyone has the right to his own word. Allowing us to guess that there are now up to several hundred knots of the general net already covering Russia, and developing the suggestion that if each man does his work successfully, then the whole of Russia by the given time, at the signal ..."
"Ah, devil take it, there's enough to do without you!" Pyotr Stepanovich turned in his armchair.
"If you prefer, I'll shorten it and end simply with a question: we have already seen the scandals, seen the discontent of the populations, been present and taken part in the fall of a local administration, and, finally, with our own eyes, we have seen a fire. What, then, are you displeased with? Isn't this your program? What can you accuse us of?"
"Of self-will!" Pyotr Stepanovich shouted furiously. "While I am here, you dare not act without my permission. Enough. The denunciation is prepared, and perhaps tomorrow, or this very night, you'll all be seized. There you have it. The information is true."
This time everyone gaped.
"You'll be seized not only as inciters to arson, but as a fivesome. The informer knows the whole secret of the network. There's your mischief-making!"
"Stavrogin, for sure!" cried Liputin.
"How ... why Stavrogin?" Pyotr Stepanovich suddenly seemed to stop short. "Eh, the devil," he recollected himself at once, "it's Shatov! You all seem to know by now that in his time Shatov belonged to the cause. I must disclose that in keeping watch on him through persons he does not suspect, I have found out, to my surprise, that for him neither the organization of the network, nor ... in a word, nothing is secret. To save himself from being accused of former participation, he will denounce everyone. So far he has still hesitated, and I've been sparing him. Now you've unbound him with this fire: he's shaken and no longer hesitant. By tomorrow we'll be arrested as incendiaries and political criminals."
"Is it true? How does Shatov know?"
The agitation was indescribable.
"It's all perfectly true. I have no right to declare my ways to you, or how I discovered it, but here is what I can do for you meanwhile: there is one person through whom I can influence Shatov so that he, without suspecting, will hold back his denunciation—but for no longer than a day. More than a day I can't do. So you may consider yourselves safe until the morning of the day after tomorrow."
Everyone was silent.
"Send him to the devil, finally!" Tolkachenko shouted first.
"Should've been done long ago!" Lyamshin put in spitefully, banging his fist on the table.
"But how to do it?" Liputin muttered.
Pyotr Stepanovich immediately picked up the question and explained his plan. It consisted in luring Shatov, for the handing over of the secret press in his possession, to the solitary place where it was buried, the next day, at nightfall—and "taking care of it there." He went into much necessary detail, which we omit here, and thoroughly clarified those ambiguous present relations between Shatov and the central society of which the reader already knows.
"That's all very well," Liputin observed unsteadily, "but since it's again ... a new adventure of the same sort ... it will strike people's minds too much."
"Undoubtedly," Pyotr Stepanovich agreed, "but that, too, has been foreseen. There exists a means of averting suspicion completely."
And with the same precision he told them about Kirillov, his intention to shoot himself, and how he had promised to wait for a signal, and to leave a note before dying taking upon himself all that would be dictated to him. (In a word, all that the reader already knows.)
"His firm intention to take his life—philosophical and, in my opinion, mad—became known there " (Pyotr Stepanovich went on explaining). "There not the slightest hair, not a speck of dust is lost; everything goes to benefit the common cause. Foreseeing the benefit and becoming convinced that his intention was perfectly serious, he was offered the means to get to Russia (for some reason he wanted without fail to die in Russia), was charged with an assignment which he pledged himself to fulfill (and did fulfill), and, moreover, they pledged him to the promise, already known to you, to put an end to himself only when he was told to. He promised everything. Note that he belongs to the cause on special terms and wishes to be beneficial; I cannot reveal any more to you. Tomorrow, after Shatov, I'll dictate a note to him saying that the cause of Shatov's death was himself. This will be very probable: they used to be friends and went to America together, there they quarreled, and all this will be explained in the note... and... and depending on the circumstances, it may even be possible to dictate another thing or two to Kirillov, about the tracts, for example, and maybe partly about the fire. However, I'll have to think about that. Don't worry, he has no prejudices; he'll sign anything."
Doubts were voiced. The story seemed fantastic. However, everyone had more or less heard somewhat about Kirillov; Liputin more than any of them.
"What if he suddenly changes his mind and doesn't want to," said Shigalyov. "One way or another he's still a madman, so the hope is an uncertain one."
"Don't worry, gentlemen, he will want to," Pyotr Stepanovich snapped out. "According to our arrangement, I must warn him a day ahead, meaning today. I invite Liputin to go to him with me now, to make sure, and when he comes back, gentlemen, he will tell you, today if necessary, whether or not I've been speaking the truth. However," he suddenly broke off, with extreme irritation, as if he suddenly felt it was too much of an honor to persuade and bother so over such paltry people, "however, you can act as you please. If you don't decide on it, the union is dissolved—but owing solely to the fact of your disobedience and betrayal. So, then, from that moment on we're all separate. But know that in that case, along with the unpleasantness of Shatov's denunciation and its consequences, you are drawing upon yourselves yet another little unpleasantness, which was firmly stated when the union was formed. As for me, gentlemen, I am not very afraid of you... Don't think I'm connected with you all that much... However, it makes no difference."