His second will give his word about his.

There'll be two pairs of pistols, and we'll toss up, his or ours ?" "Excellent." "Would you like to look at the pistols ?" "Very well." Kirillov squatted on his heels before the trunk in the corner, which he had never yet unpacked, though things had been pulled out of it as required.

He pulled out from the bottom a palm-wood box lined with red velvet, and from it took out a pair of smart and very expensive pistols.
"I've got everything, powder, bullets, cartridges.

I've a revolver besides, wait." He stooped down to the trunk again and took out a six-chambered American revolver.
"You've got weapons enough, and very good ones." "Very, extremely." Kirillov, who was poor, almost destitute, though he never noticed his poverty, was evidently proud of showing precious weapons, which he had certainly obtained with great sacrifice.
"You still have the same intentions ?" Stavrogin asked after a moment's silence, and with a certain wariness.
"Yes," answered Kirillov shortly, guessing at once from his voice what he was asking about, and he began taking the weapons from the table.
"When ?" Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired still more cautiously, after a pause.
In the meantime Kirillov had put both the boxes back in his trunk, and sat down in his place again.
"That doesn't depend on me, as you know--when they tell me," he muttered, as though disliking the question; but at the same time with evident readiness to answer any other question.

He kept his black, lustreless eyes fixed continually on Stavrogin with a calm but warm and kindly expression in them.
"I understand shooting oneself, of course," Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch began suddenly, frowning a little, after a dreamy silence that lasted three minutes.