“What next? As soon as he saw the earrings, 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 know 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 earrings? You must admit that, if on the very same day and hour earrings 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 a case.”
“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 anyone 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