“No, not on that, but on his own words. He came here on two successive evenings to see Sofya Semyonovna. I’ve shown you where they sat. He made a full confession to her. He is a murderer. He killed an old woman, a pawnbroker, with whom he had pawned things himself. He killed her sister too, a pedlar woman called Lizaveta, who happened to come in while he was murdering her sister. He killed them with an axe he brought with him. He murdered them to rob them and he did rob them. He took money and various things.⁠ ⁠… He told all this, word for word, to Sofya Semyonovna, the only person who knows his secret. But she has had no share by word or deed in the murder; she was as horrified at it as you are now. Don’t be anxious, she won’t betray him.”

“It cannot be,” muttered Dounia, with white lips. She gasped for breath. “It cannot be. There was not the slightest cause, no sort of ground.⁠ ⁠… It’s a lie, a lie!”

“He robbed her, that was the cause, he took money and things. It’s true that by his own admission he made no use of the money or things, but hid them under a stone, where they are now. But that was because he dared not make use of them.”