Where was he running? Where could she be except at Fyodor's? She must have run straight to him from Samsonov's. The whole intrigue, the whole deceit, was evident. It all rushed whirling through his mind. He did not go to Marya Kondratyevna. There was no need. He must raise no alarm. They would run and tell directly. She was in the plot, and Smerdyakov too. All had been bought over. He formed another plan. He ran a long way round the house, crossing the lane, down Dmitrovsky Street, then over the little bridge, and so to the garden. He climbed the fence at the place where, so the story went, Lizaveta had once climbed. Grigory was somewhere in the dark of the garden. Dmitri crept to the window.
The old man was alone. He was in a new dressing-gown, drinking brandy, waiting. He called into the dark for Grushenka. Come here, I've a little present for you. Come, I'll show you. He means the three thousand, Dmitri thought. Where are you? Are you at the door? I'll open it directly. The old man thrust his head out, almost to the shoulders, gazing right and left. Dmitri saw the face, greedy and waiting, the face he loathed. He had warned Alyosha of that personal repulsion. Beside himself, he suddenly pulled the brass pestle out of his pocket. God was watching over me then, he said afterwards. At that very moment Grigory woke on his bed of sickness.
Grigory had a foreboding. He found the gate open. He followed the flying figure towards the bath-house, behind it, and on to the garden fence. He reached it at the moment the man was climbing over. He cried out, pounced, and clutched the leg in both hands. His foreboding had not deceived him. He recognised him. It was the monster, the parricide. Parricide, the old man shouted. Dmitri stunned him with the pestle. The pestle fell two paces from Grigory, not in the grass but on the path, in a most conspicuous place. He was awfully anxious to make sure whether he had broken the old man's skull or only stunned him. The blood was flowing horribly. His fingers were drenched. He took out the clean white handkerchief he had brought for the visit to Madame Hohlakov and put it to the old man's head, senselessly trying to wipe the blood. The handkerchief was instantly soaked. What am I doing it for, he thought. If I have broken his skull, how can I find out now? He ran. At Grushenka's lodging they told him she had left hours ago for Mokroe, with an officer.
Coming Up in Chapter 50
He runs into the kitchen, where Fenya is sitting with her grandmother, and seizes her by the throat. Where is she, at Mokroe, and with whom? She has gone to her officer, the one who threw her over five years ago. The fingers on her throat are covered with blood.
