“Gentlemen! What’s this for, gentlemen?” began Mitya, but suddenly, as though beside himself, not knowing what he was doing, he cried aloud, at the top of his voice:
“I un—der—stand!”
The young man in spectacles moved forward suddenly, and stepping up to Mitya, began with dignity, though hurriedly:
“We have to make … in brief, I beg you to come this way, this way to the sofa. … It is absolutely imperative that you should give an explanation.”
“The old man!” cried Mitya frantically. “The old man and his blood! … I understand.”
And he sank, almost fell, on a chair close by, as though he had been mown down by a scythe.
“You understand? He understands it! Monster and parricide! Your father’s blood cries out against you!” the old captain of police roared suddenly, stepping up to Mitya.
He was beside himself, crimson in the face and quivering all over.