“What surprise?” he asked, standing still and looking at Porfiry in alarm.
“My little surprise, it’s sitting there behind the door, he-he-he!” (He pointed to the locked door.) “I locked him in that he should not escape.”
“What is it? Where? What? …”
Raskolnikov walked to the door and would have opened it, but it was locked.
“It’s locked, here is the key!”
And he brought a key out of his pocket.
“You are lying,” roared Raskolnikov without restraint, “you lie, you damned punchinello!” and he rushed at Porfiry who retreated to the other door, not at all alarmed.
“I understand it all! You are lying and mocking so that I may betray myself to you …”
“Why, you could not betray yourself any further, my dear Rodion Romanovitch. You are in a passion. Don’t shout, I shall call