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The clerk looked at him, but without the slightest interest. He

was a particularly unkempt person with the look of a fixed idea

in his eye.

"There would be no getting anything out of him, because he has no

interest in anything," thought Raskolnikov.

"Go in there to the head clerk," said the clerk, pointing towards

the furthest room.

He went into that room--the fourth in order; it was a small room

and packed full of people, rather better dressed than in the

outer rooms. Among them were two ladies. One, poorly dressed in

mourning, sat at the table opposite the chief clerk, writing

something at his dictation. The other, a very stout, buxom woman

with a purplish-red, blotchy face, excessively smartly dressed

with a brooch on her bosom as big as a saucer, was standing on

one side, apparently waiting for something. Raskolnikov thrust

his notice upon the head clerk. The latter glanced at it, said:

"Wait a minute," and went on attending to the lady in mourning.