An obscure scribe in the Secretariat had overheard a few words of a certain conversation, and had caught a glimpse of a certain report.  This intelligence was not to be neglected.

Razumov laughed a little, and his visitor became very anxious.

“Ah!  Kirylo Sidorovitch, this is no laughing matter.  They have left you alone for a while, but...!  Indeed, you had better try to leave the country, Kirylo Sidorovitch, while there’s yet time.”

Razumov jumped up and began to thank him for the advice with mocking effusiveness, so that the other, colouring up, took himself off with the notion that this mysterious Razumov was not a person to be warned or advised by inferior mortals.

Councillor Mikulin, informed the next day of the incident, expressed his satisfaction.  “H’m!  Ha!  Exactly what was wanted to...” and glanced down his beard.

“I conclude,” said Razumov, “that the moment has come for me to start on my mission.”

“The psychological Moment,” Councillor Mikulin insisted softly—­very gravely—­as if awed.

All the arrangements to give verisimilitude to the appearance of a difficult escape were made.  Councillor Mikulin did not expect to see Mr. Razumov again before his departure.  These meetings were a risk, and there was nothing more to settle.

“We have said everything to each other by now, Kirylo Sidorovitch,” said the high official feelingly, pressing Razumov’s hand with that unreserved heartiness a Russian can convey in his manner.  “There is nothing obscure between us.  And I will tell you what!  I consider myself fortunate in having—­h’m—­your...”

He glanced down his beard, and, after a moment of thoughtful silence, handed to Razumov a half-sheet of notepaper—­an abbreviated note of matters already discussed, certain points of inquiry, the line of conduct agreed on, a few hints as to personalities, and so on.  It was the only compromising document in the case, but, as Councillor Mikulin observed, “it could be easily destroyed.  Mr. Razumov had better not see any one now—­till on the other side of the frontier, when, of course, it will be just that....  See and hear and...”

He glanced down his beard; but when Razumov declared his intention to see one person at least before leaving St. Petersburg, Councillor Mikulin failed to conceal a sudden uneasiness.  The young man’s studious, solitary, and austere existence was well known to him.  It was the greatest guarantee of fitness.  He became deprecatory.  Had his dear Kirylo Sidorovitch considered whether, in view of such a momentous enterprise, it wasn’t really advisable to sacrifice every sentiment....

Razumov interrupted the remonstrance scornfully.  It was not a young woman, it was a young fool he wished to see for a certain purpose.  Councillor Mikulin was relieved, but surprised.

“Ah!  And what for—­precisely?”

“For the sake of improving the aspect of verisimilitude,” said Razumov curtly, in a desire to affirm his independence.  “I must be trusted in what I do.”