A supper had been prepared there. Matov ate heartily and drank much wine. His companion began to invent stories about certain suspicious movements he had heard of lately. Little by little Matov grew candid, and began to boast of his connexions with the police, and of the great number of people he had skilfully betrayed. The door leading to the next room was hung with draperies. Three people were hiding in that room--Trirodov, Ostrov, and the young working man Krovlin. They were listening. Krovlin was intensely excited. He kept on repeating in indignant whispers: “Oh, the scoundrel! The wretch!” Ostrov and Trirodov managed to restrain him with great difficulty. “Be silent. Let him babble out everything,” they said to him. At last Matov’s impudent boastfulness was too much for Krovlin, who jumped out from his hiding-place, and shouted: “So that’s how it is! You’ve betrayed our men to the police! And you have the face to confess it!” Dmitry Matov grew green with fear. He shouted to his companion: “Kill him! He has been listening to us! Shoot quick! He mustn’t live. He will give us both up!” At this moment two other men appeared from the same place. Lunitsin aimed his revolver straight at Matov’s forehead, and asked: “Who ought to be killed, traitor?” Matov then understood that he had been caught in a trap. But he still made efforts to wriggle out of it, and called all his skill and his insolence to his assistance. They tried him for treachery. At first he defended himself. He said that he had deceived the police, and that he had entered into relations with them merely to get important information for his comrades. But his protestations soon grew weaker. Then he began to beg for mercy. He spoke of his wife and of his children. Matov’s entreaties failed to impress any one. His judges were adamant. His fate was decided. The sentence of hanging was passed unanimously. Matov was bound. The noose was already thrown about his neck. Then Trirodov intervened: “What are you going to do with him? It will be difficult to take him away, and it is dangerous to leave him here.” “Who will come here?” said Lunitsin. “At best only by chance. Let him hang here until he’s found.” “Let us bury him here in the garden, like a dog,” suggested Krovlin. “Give him to me,” said Trirodov. “I will dispose his body in such a way that no one will find it.” The others assented eagerly. Ostrov said with a scornful smile: “Will you try your chemistry on him, Giorgiy Sergeyevitch? Well, it’s all the same to us. A bad man ought to be punished--make even a skeleton of him for your use if you like.” Trirodov drew a flagon containing a colourless liquid from his pocket. “Now this will put him to sleep,” he said. He injected with a small syringe several drops of the liquid under Dmitry Matov’s skin. Matov gave a feeble cry and fell heavily to the floor. In a few moments the body lay before them, blue and apparently lifeless. Lunitsin examined Matov and said: