It was a revolver.
"One night, in delirium, I fancied that you were coming to kill me, and early next morning I spent my last farthing on buying a revolver from that good-for-nothing fellow Lyamshin; I did not mean to let you do it.
Then I came to myself again...

I've neither powder nor shot; it has been lying there on the shelf till now; wait a minute...." He got up and was opening the casement.
"Don't throw it away, why should you ?" Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch checked him.

"It's worth something.

Besides, tomorrow people will begin saying that there are revolvers lying about under Shatov's window.

Put it back, that's right; sit down.