"Now everybody needs a pistol," said Melnikov simply, and slipped the revolver into Yevsey's overcoat pocket. "Yes, there was a Yakov, now there is no Yakov." "It was I who marked him for death," thought Yevsey, looking at his comrade's face. Zarubin's brows were sternly drawn. A look of serious preoccupation gleamed and died away in his dim eyes. His little black mustache bristled on his raised lip. He appeared to be annoyed. His half-open mouth seemed ready to pour forth a rapid torrent of irritated talk. "Come," said Melnikov. "And he--how about them?" asked Yevsey, tearing his eyes from Zarubin. "The police will take them away. It's against the law to remove the killed. Let's go somewhere, and shake ourselves up. I haven't eaten to-day. I can't eat--the third day without food. No sleep either." He sighed painfully, and concluded with somber _sang froid_. "I should have been killed in Yakov's place." "Sasha will ruin all," said Yevsey, through his teeth. "He'll ruin us all." "Blindness of the soul." They walked along the street without observing anything, and each spoke that with which his own mind was occupied. Both were like drunken men. "Where's the truth?" asked Melnikov, putting his hand forward, as if to test the air. "There, you see, two have been killed," said Yevsey, making an effort to catch an elusive thought. "Many people have been killed to-day, I should think. All are blind." "Why did Sasha arrange this?" "I don't love him either." "He's the one who ought to be killed," exclaimed Yevsey, with bitter vengefulness. Melnikov was silent for a long time. Then he suddenly shook his fist in the air, and said resolutely: "Enough! I've taken sins enough upon myself. On the other side of the Volga I have an uncle, a very old man. He is all I have in this world. I'll go to him. He keeps an apiary--when he was young he was tried for forgery." After another pause of silence the spy laughed quietly. "What's the matter?" asked Yevsey, annoyed. "I'm forgetting everything. My uncle has now been dead for three years." They reached a café known to them. Yevsey stopped at the door, and looked meditatively at the illuminated windows. "People again," he muttered, dissatisfied. "I don't want to go in there." "Let's go in. It's all the same," said Melnikov, taking him by the arm, and leading him after himself. "It will be tiresome for me to be here alone. Besides I've become fearsome. I'm not afraid of being killed if I'm recognized as a spy. It's just a general feeling of dread."