“No. As to the knife,” he added, “this is all I can tell you about it.” He was silent for a moment, and then said, “I took it out of the locked drawer this morning about three, for it was in the early morning all this—happened. It has been inside the book ever since—and—and—this is what is such a marvel to me, the knife only went in a couple of inches at most, just under her left breast, and there wasn’t more than half a tablespoonful of blood altogether, not more.”
“Yes—yes—yes—” The prince jumped up in extraordinary agitation. “I know, I know, I’ve read of that sort of thing—it’s internal haemorrhage, you know. Sometimes there isn’t a drop—if the blow goes straight to the heart—”
“Wait—listen!” cried Rogojin, suddenly, starting up. “Somebody’s walking about, do you hear? In the hall.” Both sat up to listen.
“I hear,” said the prince in a whisper, his eyes fixed on Rogojin.
“Footsteps?”
“Yes.”
“Shall we shut the door, and lock it, or not?”
“Yes, lock it.”
They locked the door, and both lay down again. There was a long silence.
“Yes, by the by,” whispered the prince, hurriedly and excitedly as before, as though he had just seized hold of an idea and was afraid of losing it again. “I—I wanted those cards! They say you played cards with her?”
“Yes, I played with her,” said Rogojin, after a short silence.
“Where are the cards?”