"I should think so," said Zossimov.
"Wait! Hear the end. Of course they sought high and low for Nikolay; they detained
Dushkin and searched his house; Dmitri, too, was arrested; the Kolomensky men also
were turned inside out. And the day before yesterday they arrested Nikolay in a
tavern at the end of the town. He had gone there, taken the silver cross off his
neck and asked for a dram for it. They gave it to him. A few minutes afterwards
the woman went to the cowshed, and through a crack in the wall she saw in the stable
adjoining he had made a noose of his sash from the beam, stood on a block of wood,
and was trying to put his neck in the noose. The woman screeched her hardest; people
ran in. 'So that's what you are up to!' 'Take me,' he says, 'to such-and-such a
police officer; I'll confess everything.' Well, they took him to that police station–
that is here– with a suitable escort. So they asked him this and that, how old he
is, 'twenty-two,' and so on. At the question, 'When you were working with Dmitri,
didn't you see any one on the staircase at such-and-such a time?'– answer: 'To be
sure folks may have gone up and down, but I did not notice them.' 'And didn't you
hear anything, any noise, and so on?' 'We heard nothing special.' 'And did you hear,
Nikolay, that on the same day Widow So-and-so and her sister were murdered and robbed?'
'I never knew a thing about it. The first I heard of it was from Afanasy Pavlovitch
the day before yesterday.' 'And where did you find the ear-rings?' 'I found them
on the pavement. "Why didn't you go to work with Dmitri the other day?' 'Because
I was drinking.' 'And where were you drinking?' 'Oh, in such-and-such a place.'
'Why did you run away from Dushkin's?' 'Because I was awfully frightened.' 'What
were you frightened of?' 'That I should be accused.' 'How could you be frightened,
if you felt free from guilt?' Now, Zossimov, you may not believe me, that question
was put literally in those words. I know it for a fact, it was repeated to me exactly!
What do you say to that?"
"Well, anyway, there's the evidence."
"I am not talking of the evidence now, I am talking about that question, of their
own idea of themselves. Well, so they squeezed and squeezed him and he confessed:
'I did not find it in the street, but in the flat where I was painting with Dmitri.'
'And how was that?' 'Why, Dmitri and I were painting there all day, and we were
just getting ready to go, and Dmitri took a brush and painted my face, and he ran
off and I after him. I ran after him, shouting my hardest, and at the bottom of
the stairs I ran right against the porter and some gentlemen– and how many gentlemen
were there I don't remember. And the porter swore at me, and the other porter swore,
too, and the porter's wife came out, and swore at us, too; and a gentleman came
into the entry with a lady, and he swore at us, too, for Dmitri and I lay right
across the way. I got hold of Dmitri's hair and knocked him down and began beating
him. And Dmitri, too, caught me by the hair and began beating me. But we did it
all not for temper, but in a friendly way, for sport. And then Dmitri escaped and
ran into the street, and I ran after him; but I did not catch him, and went back
to the flat alone; I had to clear up my things. I began putting them together, expecting
Dmitri to come, and there in the passage, in the corner by the door, I stepped on
the box. I saw it lying there wrapped up in paper. I took off the paper, saw some
little hooks, undid them, and in the box were the ear-rings….'"
"Behind the door? Lying behind the door? Behind the door?" Raskolnikov cried
suddenly, staring with a blank look of terror at Razumihin, and he slowly sat up
on the sofa, leaning on his hand.
"Yes… why? What's the matter? What's wrong?" Razumihin, too, got up from his
"Nothing," Raskolnikov answered faintly, turning to the wall. All were silent
for a while.
"He must have waked from a dream," Razumihin said at last, looking inquiringly
at Zossimov. The latter slightly shook his head.
"Well, go on," said Zossimov. "What next?"
"What next? As soon as he saw the ear-rings, forgetting Dmitri and everything,
he took up his cap and ran to Dushkin and, as we know, got a rouble from him. He
told a lie saying he found them in the street, and went off drinking. He keeps repeating
his old story about the murder: 'I knew nothing of it, never heard of it till the
day before yesterday.' 'And why didn't you come to the police till now?' 'I was
frightened.' 'And why did you try to hang yourself?' 'From anxiety.' 'What anxiety?'
'That I should be accused of it.' Well, that's the whole story. And now what do
you suppose they deduced from that?"
"Why, there's no supposing. There's a clue, such as it is, a fact. You wouldn't
have your painter set free?"
"Now they've simply taken him for the murderer. They haven't a shadow of doubt."
"That's nonsense. You are excited. But what about the ear-rings? You must admit
that, if on the very same day and hour ear-rings from the old woman's box have come
into Nikolay's hands, they must have come there somehow. That's a good deal in such
"How did they get there? How did they get there?" cried Razumihin. "How can you,
a doctor, whose duty it is to study man and who has more opportunity than any one
else for studying human nature– how can you fail to see the character of the man
in the whole story? Don't you see at once that the answers he has given in the examination
are the holy truth? They came into his hand precisely as he has told us– he stepped
on the box and picked it up."
"The holy truth! But didn't he own himself that he told a lie at first?"
"Listen to me, listen attentively. The porter and Koch and Pestryakov and the
other porter and the wife of the first porter and the woman who was sitting in the
porter's lodge and the man Kryukov, who had just got out of a cab at that minute
and went in at the entry with a lady on his arm, that is eight or ten witnesses,
agree that Nikolay had Dmitri on the ground, was lying on him beating him, while
Dmitri hung on to his hair, beating him, too. They lay right across the way, blocking
the thoroughfare. They were sworn at on all sides while they 'like children' (the
very words of the witnesses) were falling over one another, squealing, fighting
and laughing with the funniest faces, and, chasing one another like children, they
ran into the street. Now take careful note. The bodies upstairs were warm, you understand,
warm when they found them! If they, or Nikolay alone, had murdered them and broken
open the boxes, or simply taken part in the robbery, allow me to ask you one question:
do their state of mind, their squeals and giggles and childish scuffling at the
gate fit in with axes, bloodshed, fiendish cunning, robbery? They'd just killed
them, not five or ten minutes before, for the bodies were still warm, and at once,
leaving the flat open, knowing that people would go there at once, flinging away
their booty, they rolled about like children, laughing and attracting general attention.
And there are a dozen witnesses to swear to that!"
"Of course it is strange! It's impossible, indeed, but…"
"No, brother, no buts. And if the ear-rings' being found in Nikolay's hands at
the very day and hour of the murder constitutes an important piece of circumstantial
evidence against him– although the explanation given by him accounts for it, and
therefore it does not tell seriously against him– one must take into consideration
the facts which prove him innocent, especially as they are facts that cannot be
denied. And do you suppose, from the character of our legal system, that they will
accept, or that they are in a position to accept, this fact– resting simply on a
psychological impossibility– as irrefutable and conclusively breaking down the circumstantial
evidence for the prosecution? No, they won't accept it, they certainly won't, because
they found the jewel-case and the man tried to hang himself, 'which he could not
have done if he hadn't felt guilty.' That's the point, that's what excites me, you
"Oh, I see you are excited! Wait a bit. I forgot to ask you; what proof is there
that the box came from the old woman?"
"That's been proved," said Razumihin with apparent reluctance, frowning. "Koch
recognised the jewel-case and gave the name of the owner, who proved conclusively
that it was his."
"That's bad. Now another point. Did any one see Nikolay at the time that Koch
and Pestryakov were going upstairs at first, and is there no evidence about that?"
"Nobody did see him," Razumihin answered with vexation. "That's the worst of
it. Even Koch and Pestryakov did not notice them on their way upstairs, though,
indeed, their evidence could not have been worth much. They said they saw the flat
was open, and that there must be work going on in it, but they took no special notice
and could not remember whether there actually were men at work in it."
"Hm!… So the only evidence for the defence is that they were beating one another
and laughing. That constitutes a strong presumption, but… How do you explain the
"How do I explain them? What is there to explain? It's clear. At any rate, the
direction in which explanation is to be sought is clear, and the jewel-case points
to it. The real murderer dropped those ear-rings. The murderer was upstairs, locked
in, when Koch and Pestryakov knocked at the door. Koch, like an ass, did not stay
at the door; so the murderer popped out and ran down, too, for he had no other way
of escape. He hid from Koch, Pestryakov and the porter in the flat when Nikolay
and Dmitri had just run out of it. He stopped there while the porter and others
were going upstairs, waited till they were out of hearing, and then went calmly
downstairs at the very minute when Dmitri and Nikolay ran out into the street and
there was no one in the entry; possibly he was seen, but not noticed. There are
lots of people going in and out. He must have dropped the ear-rings out of his pocket
when he stood behind the door, and did not notice he dropped them, because he had
other things to think of. The jewel-case is a conclusive proof that he did stand
there…. That's how I explain it."
"Too clever! No, my boy, you're too clever. That beats everything."
"But, why, why?"
"Why, because everything fits too well… it's too melodramatic."
"A-ach!" Razumihin was exclaiming, but at that moment the door opened and a personage
came in who was a stranger to all present. CHAPTERFIVE Chapter Five
THIS WAS a gentleman no longer young, of a stiff and portly appearance, and a
cautious and sour countenance. He began by stopping short in the doorway, staring
about him with offensive and undisguised astonishment, as though asking himself
what sort of place he had come to. Mistrustfully and with an affectation of being
alarmed and almost affronted, he scanned Raskolnikov's low and narrow "cabin." With
the same amazement he stared at Raskolnikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled, unwashed,
on his miserable dirty sofa, looking fixedly at him. Then with the same deliberation
he scrutinised the uncouth, unkempt figure and unshaven face of Razumihin, who looked
him boldly and inquiringly in the face without rising from his seat. A constrained
silence lasted for a couple of minutes, and then, as might be expected, some scene-shifting
took place. Reflecting, probably from certain fairly unmistakable signs, that he
would get nothing in this "cabin" by attempting to overawe them, the gentleman softened
somewhat, and civilly, though with some severity, emphasising every syllable of
his question, addressed Zossimov:
"Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, a student, or formerly a student?"
Zossimov made a slight movement, and would have answered, had not Razumihin anticipated
"Here he is lying on the sofa! What do you want?"
This familiar "what do you want" seemed to cut the ground from the feet of the
pompous gentleman. He was turning to Razumihin, but checked himself in time and
turned to Zossimov again.
"This is Raskolnikov," mumbled Zossimov, nodding towards him. Then he gave a
prolonged yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possible. Then he lazily put his hand
into his waistcoat-pocket, pulled out a huge gold watch in a round hunter's case,
opened it, looked at it and as slowly and lazily proceeded to put it back.
Raskolnikov himself lay without speaking, on his back, gazing persistently, though
'without understanding, at the stranger. Now that his face was turned away from
the strange flower on the paper, it was extremely pale and wore a look of anguish,
as though he had just undergone an agonising operation or just been taken from the
rack. But the new-comer gradually began to arouse his attention, then his wonder,
then suspicion and even alarm. When Zossimov said "This is Raskolnikov" he jumped
up quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost defiant, but weak and breaking, voice
"Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?"
The visitor scrutinised him and pronounced impressively:
"Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I believe I have reason to hope that my name is not
wholly unknown to you?"
But Raskolnikov, who had expected something quite different, gazed blankly and
dreamily at him, making no reply, as though he heard the name of Pyotr Petrovitch
for the first time.
"Is it possible that you can up to the present have received no information?"
asked Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted.