On the way to Porfiry’s, Razumihin was obviously excited.
“That’s capital, brother,” he repeated several times, “and I am glad! I am glad!”
“What are you glad about?” Raskolnikov thought to himself.
“I didn’t know that you pledged things at the old woman’s, too. And … was it long ago? I mean, was it long since you were there?”
“What a simple-hearted fool he is!”
“When was it?” Raskolnikov stopped still to recollect. “Two or three days before her death it must have been. But I am not going to redeem the things now,” he put in with a sort of hurried and conspicuous solicitude about the things. “I’ve not more than a silver rouble left … after last night’s accursed delirium!”
He laid special emphasis on the delirium.
“Yes, yes,” Razumihin hastened to agree—with what was not clear. “Then that’s why you … were stuck … partly … you know in your delirium you were continually mentioning some rings or chains! Yes, yes … that’s clear, it’s all clear now.”
“Hullo! How that idea must have got about among them. Here this man will go to the stake for me, and I find him delighted at having it cleared up why I spoke of rings in my delirium! What a hold the idea must have on all of them!”
“Shall we find him?” he asked suddenly.
“Oh, yes,” Razumihin answered quickly. “He is a nice fellow, you will see, brother. Rather clumsy, that is to say, he is a man of polished manners, but I mean clumsy in a different sense. He is an intelligent fellow, very much so indeed, but he has his own range of ideas. …