“But what the devil is he about?...” Time was passing, one minute, and another—no one came. Koch began to be restless.
“What the devil?” he cried suddenly and in impatience deserting his sentry duty, he, too, went down, hurrying and thumping with his heavy boots on the stairs. The steps died away.
“Good heavens! What am I to do?”
Raskolnikov unfastened the hook, opened the door—there was no sound. Abruptly, without any thought at all, he went out, closing the door as thoroughly as he could, and went downstairs.