i've been to you twice to-day, brother. you see, he's come to himself, cried razumihin.
i see, i see; and how do we feel now, eh? said zossimov to raskolnikov, watching him carefully and, sitting down at the foot of the sofa, he settled himself as comfortably as he could.
he is still depressed, razumihin went on. we've just changed his linen and he almost cried.
that's very natural; you might have put it off if he did not wish it. . . . his pulse is first-rate. is your head still aching, eh?
i am well, i am perfectly well! raskolnikov declared positively and irritably. he raised himself on the sofa and looked at them with glittering eyes, but sank back on to the pillow at once and turned to the wall. zossimov watched him intently.
very good. . . . going on all right, he said lazily. has he eaten anything?
they told him, and asked what he might have.
he may have anything . . . soup, tea . . . mushrooms and cucumbers, of course, you must not give him; he'd better not have meat either, and . . . but no need to tell you that! razumihin and he looked at each other. no more medicine or anything. i'll look at him again to-morrow. perhaps, to-day even . . . but never mind . . .
to-morrow evening i shall take him for a walk, said razumihin. we are going to the yusupov garden and then to the palais de crystal.
i would not disturb him to-morrow at all, but i don't know . . . a little, maybe . . . but we'll see.
ach, what a nuisance! i've got a house-warming party to-night; it's only a step from here. couldn't he come? he could lie on the sofa. you are coming? razumihin said to zossimov. don't forget, you promised.
all right, only rather later. what are you going to do?
oh, nothing--tea, vodka, herrings. there will be a pie . . . just our friends.
and who?
all neighbours here, almost all new friends, except my old uncle, and he is new too--he only arrived in petersburg yesterday to see to some business of his. we meet once in five years.
what is he?
he's been stagnating all his life as a district postmaster; gets a little pension. he is sixty-five--not worth talking about. . . . but i am fond of him. porfiry petrovitch, the head of the investigation department here . . . but you know him.
is he a relation of yours, too?
a very distant one. but why are you scowling? because you quarrelled once, won't you come then?
i don't care a damn for him.
so much the better. well, there will be some students, a teacher, a government clerk, a musician, an officer and zametov.
do tell me, please, what you or he--zossimov nodded at raskolnikov-- can have in common with this zametov?
oh, you particular gentleman! principles! you are worked by principles, as it were by springs; you won't venture to turn round on your own account. if a man is a nice fellow, that's the only principle i go upon. zametov is a delightful person.
though he does take bribes.
well, he does! and what of it? i don't care if he does take bribes, razumihin cried with unnatural irritability. i don't praise him for taking bribes. i only say he is a nice man in his own way! but if one looks at men in all ways--are there many good ones left? why, i am sure i shouldn't be worth a baked onion myself . . . perhaps with you thrown in.
that's too little; i'd give two for you.
and i wouldn't give more than one for you. no more of your jokes! zametov is no more than a boy. i can pull his hair and one must draw him not repel him. you'll never improve a man by repelling him, especially a boy. one has to be twice as careful with a boy. oh, you progressive dullards! you don't understand. you harm yourselves running another man down. . . . but if you want to know, we really have something in common.
i should like to know what.
why, it's all about a house-painter. . . . we are getting him out of a mess! though indeed there's nothing to fear now. the matter is absolutely self-evident. we only put on steam.
a painter?
why, haven't i told you about it? i only told you the beginning then about the murder of the old pawnbroker-woman. well, the painter is mixed up in it . . .
oh, i heard about that murder before and was rather interested in it . . . partly . . . for one reason. . . . i read about it in the papers, too. . . .
lizaveta was murdered, too, nastasya blurted out, suddenly addressing raskolnikov. she remained in the room all the time, standing by the door listening.
lizaveta, murmured raskolnikov hardly audibly.
lizaveta, who sold old clothes. didn't you know her? she used to come here. she mended a shirt for you, too.
raskolnikov turned to the wall where in the dirty, yellow paper he picked out one clumsy, white flower with brown lines on it and began examining how many petals there were in it, how many scallops in the petals and how many lines on them. he felt his arms and legs as lifeless as though they had been cut off. he did not attempt to move, but stared obstinately at the flower.
but what about the painter? zossimov interrupted nastasya's chatter with marked displeasure. she sighed and was silent.
why, he was accused of the murder, razumihin went on hotly.
was there evidence against him then?
evidence, indeed! evidence that was no evidence, and that's what we have to prove. it was just as they pitched on those fellows, koch and pestryakov, at first. foo! how stupidly it's all done, it makes one sick, though it's not one's business! pestryakov may be coming to-night. . . . by the way, rodya, you've heard about the business already; it happened before you were ill, the day before you fainted at the police office while they were talking about it.
zossimov looked curiously at raskolnikov. he did not stir.
but i say, razumihin, i wonder at you. what a busybody you are! zossimov observed.
maybe i am, but we will get him off anyway, shouted razumihin, bringing his fist down on the table. what's the most offensive is not their lying--one can always forgive lying--lying is a delightful thing, for it leads to truth--what is offensive is that they lie and worship their own lying. . . . i respect porfiry, but . . . what threw them out at first? the door was locked, and when they came back with the porter it was open. so it followed that koch and pestryakov were the murderers--that was their logic!
but don't excite yourself; they simply detained them, they could not help that. . . . and, by the way, i've met that man koch. he used to buy unredeemed pledges from the old woman? eh?
yes, he is a swindler. he buys up bad debts, too. he makes a profession of it. but enough of him! do you know what makes me angry? it's their sickening rotten, petrified routine. . . . and this case might be the means of introducing a new method. one can show from the psychological data alone how to get on the track of the real man. 'we have facts,' they say. but facts are not everything--at least half the business lies in how you interpret them!
can you interpret them, then?
anyway, one can't hold one's tongue when one has a feeling, a tangible feeling, that one might be a help if only. . . . eh! do you know the details of the case?
i am waiting to hear about the painter.
oh, yes! well, here's the story. early on the third day after the murder, when they were still dandling koch and pestryakov--though they accounted for every step they took and it was as plain as a pikestaff- an unexpected fact turned up. a peasant called dushkin, who keeps a dram-shop facing the house, brought to the police office a jeweller's case containing some gold ear-rings, and told a long rigamarole. 'the day before yesterday, just after eight o'clock'--mark the day and the hour!--'a journeyman house-painter, nikolay, who had been in to see me already that day, brought me this box of gold ear-rings and stones, and asked me to give him two roubles for them. when i asked him where he got them, he said that he picked them up in the street. i did not ask him anything more.' i am telling you dushkin's story. 'i gave him a note'--a rouble that is--'for i thought if he did not pawn it with me he would with another. it would all come to the same thing--he'd spend it on drink, so the thing had better be with me. the further you hide it the quicker you will find it, and if anything turns up, if i hear any rumours, i'll take it to the police.' of course, that's all taradiddle; he lies like a horse, for i know this dushkin, he is a pawnbroker and a receiver of stolen goods, and he did not cheat nikolay out of a thirty-rouble trinket in order to give it to the police. he was simply afraid. but no matter, to return to dushkin's story. 'i've known this peasant, nikolay dementyev, from a child; he comes from the same province and district of zaraisk, we are both ryazan men. and though nikolay is not a drunkard, he drinks, and i knew he had a job in that house, painting work with dmitri, who comes from the same village, too. as soon as he got the rouble he changed it, had a couple of glasses, took his change and went out. but i did not see dmitri with him then. and the next day i heard that someone had murdered alyona ivanovna and her sister, lizaveta ivanovna, with an axe. i knew them, and i felt suspicious about the ear-rings at once, for i knew the murdered woman lent money on pledges. i went to the house, and began to make careful inquiries without saying a word to anyone. first of all i asked, is nikolay here? dmitri told me that nikolay had gone off on the spree; he had come home at daybreak drunk, stayed in the house about ten minutes, and went out again. dmitri didn't see him again and is finishing the job alone. and their job is on the same staircase as the murder, on the second floor. when i heard all that i did not say a word to anyone'--that's dushkin's tale--'but i found out what i could about the murder, and went home feeling as suspicious as ever. and at eight o'clock this morning'-- that was the third day, you understand--'i saw nikolay coming in, not sober, though not to say very drunk--he could understand what was said to him. he sat down on the bench and did not speak. there was only one stranger in the bar and a man i knew asleep on a bench and our two boys. have you seen dmitri? said i. no, i haven't, said he. and you've not been here either? not since the day before yesterday, said he. and where did you sleep last night? in peski, with the kolomensky men. and where did you get those ear-rings? i asked. i found them in the street, and the way he said it was a bit queer; he did not look at me. did you hear what happened that very evening, at that very hour, on that same staircase? said i. no, said he, i had not heard, and all the while he was listening, his eyes were staring out of his head and he turned as white as chalk. i told him all about it and he took his hat and began getting up. i wanted to keep him. wait a bit, nikolay, said i, won't you have a drink? and i signed to the boy to hold the door, and i came out from behind the bar; but he darted out and down the street to the turning at a run. i have not seen him since. then my doubts were at an end--it was his doing, as clear as could be. . . .'
i should think so, said zossimov.
wait! hear the end. of course they sought high and low for nikolay; they detained dushkin and searched his house; dmitri, too, was arrested; the kolomensky men also were turned inside out. and the day before yesterday they arrested nikolay in a tavern at the end of the town. he had gone there, taken the silver cross off his neck and asked for a dram for it. they gave it to him. a few minutes afterwards the woman went to the cowshed, and through a crack in the wall she saw in the stable adjoining he had made a noose of his sash from the beam, stood on a block of wood, and was trying to put his neck in the noose. the woman screeched her hardest; people ran in. 'so that's what you are up to!' 'take me,' he says, 'to such-and-such a police officer; i'll confess everything.' well, they took him to that police station-- that is here--with a suitable escort. so they asked him this and that, how old he is, 'twenty-two,' and so on. at the question, 'when you were working with dmitri, didn't you see anyone on the staircase at such-and-such a time?'--answer: 'to be sure folks may have gone up and down, but i did not notice them.' 'and didn't you hear anything, any noise, and so on?' 'we heard nothing special.' 'and did you hear, nikolay, that on the same day widow so-and-so and her sister were murdered and robbed?' 'i never knew a thing about it. the first i heard of it was from afanasy pavlovitch the day before yesterday.' 'and where did you find the ear-rings?' 'i found them on the pavement. why didn't you go to work with dmitri the other day?' 'because i was drinking.' 'and where were you drinking?' 'oh, in such-and-such a place.' 'why did you run away from dushkin's?' 'because i was awfully frightened.' 'what were you frightened of?' 'that i should be accused.' 'how could you be frightened, if you felt free from guilt?' now, zossimov, you may not believe me, that question was put literally in those words. i know it for a fact, it was repeated to me exactly! what do you say to that?
well, anyway, there's the evidence.
i am not talking of the evidence now, i am talking about that question, of their own idea of themselves. well, so they squeezed and squeezed him and he confessed: 'i did not find it in the street, but in the flat where i was painting with dmitri.' 'and how was that?' 'why, dmitri and i were painting there all day, and we were just getting ready to go, and dmitri took a brush and painted my face, and he ran off and i after him. i ran after him, shouting my hardest, and at the bottom of the stairs i ran right against the porter and some gentlemen--and how many gentlemen were there i don't remember. and the porter swore at me, and the other porter swore, too, and the porter's wife came out, and swore at us, too; and a gentleman came into the entry with a lady, and he swore at us, too, for dmitri and i lay right across the way. i got hold of dmitri's hair and knocked him down and began beating him. and dmitri, too, caught me by the hair and began beating me. but we did it all not for temper but in a friendly way, for sport. and then dmitri escaped and ran into the street, and i ran after him; but i did not catch him, and went back to the flat alone; i had to clear up my things. i began putting them together, expecting dmitri to come, and there in the passage, in the corner by the door, i stepped on the box. i saw it lying there wrapped up in paper. i took off the paper, saw some little hooks, undid them, and in the box were the ear-rings. . . .'
behind the door? lying behind the door? behind the door? raskolnikov cried suddenly, staring with a blank look of terror at razumihin, and he slowly sat up on the sofa, leaning on his hand.
yes . . . why? what's the matter? what's wrong? razumihin, too, got up from his seat.
nothing, raskolnikov answered faintly, turning to the wall. all were silent for a while.
he must have waked from a dream, razumihin said at last, looking inquiringly at zossimov. the latter slightly shook his head.
well, go on, said zossimov. what next?
what next? as soon as he saw the ear-rings, 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 ear-rings? you must admit that, if on the very same day and hour ear-rings 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 out of a cab at that minute and went in at the entry with a lady on his arm, that is eight or ten witnesses, agree that nikolay had dmitri on the ground, was lying on him beating him, while dmitri hung on to his hair, beating him, too. they lay right across the way, blocking the thoroughfare. they were sworn at on all sides while they 'like children' (the very words of the witnesses) were falling over one another, squealing, fighting and laughing with the funniest faces, and, chasing one another like children, they ran into the street. now take careful note. the bodies upstairs were warm, you understand, warm when they found them! if they, or nikolay alone, had murdered them and broken open the boxes, or simply taken part in the robbery, allow me to ask you one question: do their state of mind, their squeals and giggles and childish scuffling at the gate fit in with axes, bloodshed, fiendish cunning, robbery? they'd just killed them, not five or ten minutes before, for the bodies were still warm, and at once, leaving the flat open, knowing that people would go there at once, flinging away their booty, they rolled about like children, laughing and attracting general attention. and there are a dozen witnesses to swear to that!
of course it is strange! it's impossible, indeed, but . . .
no, brother, no /buts/. and if the ear-rings being found in nikolay's hands at the very day and hour of the murder constitutes an important piece of circumstantial evidence against him--although the explanation given by him accounts for it, and therefore it does not tell seriously against him--one must take into consideration the facts which prove him innocent, especially as they are facts that /cannot be denied/. and do you suppose, from the character of our legal system, that they will accept, or that they are in a position to accept, this fact-- resting simply on a psychological impossibility--as irrefutable and conclusively breaking down the circumstantial evidence for the prosecution? no, they won't accept it, they certainly won't, because they found the jewel-case and the man tried to hang himself, 'which he could not have done if he hadn't felt guilty.' that's the point, that's what excites me, you must understand!
oh, i see you are excited! wait a bit. i forgot to ask you; what proof is there that the box came from the old woman?
that's been proved, said razumihin with apparent reluctance, frowning. koch recognised the jewel-case and gave the name of the owner, who proved conclusively that it was his.
that's bad. now another point. did anyone see nikolay at the time that koch and pestryakov were going upstairs at first, and is there no evidence about that?
nobody did see him, razumihin answered with vexation. that's the worst of it. even koch and pestryakov did not notice them on their way upstairs, though, indeed, their evidence could not have been worth much. they said they saw the flat was open, and that there must be work going on in it, but they took no special notice and could not remember whether there actually were men at work in it.
hm! . . . so the only evidence for the defence is that they were beating one another and laughing. that constitutes a strong presumption, but . . . how do you explain the facts yourself?
how do i explain them? what is there to explain? it's clear. at any rate, the direction in which explanation is to be sought is clear, and the jewel-case points to it. the real murderer dropped those ear- rings. the murderer was upstairs, locked in, when koch and pestryakov knocked at the door. koch, like an ass, did not stay at the door; so the murderer popped out and ran down, too; for he had no other way of escape. he hid from koch, pestryakov and the porter in the flat when nikolay and dmitri had just run out of it. he stopped there while the porter and others were going upstairs, waited till they were out of hearing, and then went calmly downstairs at the very minute when dmitri and nikolay ran out into the street and there was no one in the entry; possibly he was seen, but not noticed. there are lots of people going in and out. he must have dropped the ear-rings out of his pocket when he stood behind the door, and did not notice he dropped them, because he had other things to think of. the jewel-case is a conclusive proof that he did stand there. . . . that's how i explain it.
too clever! no, my boy, you're too clever. that beats everything.
but, why, why?
why, because everything fits too well . . . it's too melodramatic.
a-ach! razumihin was exclaiming, but at that moment the door opened and a personage came in who was a stranger to all present.
佐西莫夫是个高大、肥胖的人，脸有点儿浮肿，面色苍白，脸上刮得干干净净，淡黄色的头发是直的，戴着眼镜，一只胖得有点儿发肿的手指上戴着一枚老大的镶宝石戒指。他大约有二十六、七岁。穿一件十分考究、料子轻而薄的、宽松的大衣，一条夏季穿的浅色长裤，总而言之，他身上的衣服全都是宽大的，很考究，而且是崭新的；内衣也无可挑剔，表链又粗又重。他一举一动都是慢腾腾的，好像有点儿萎靡不振，同时又故意作出一副随随便便的样子；随时都流露出自命不凡的神情，不过他竭力想把自己的自负隐藏起来。所有认识他的人都认为他是个难以相处的人，可是都说，他业务不错。
“老兄，我到你那儿去过两趟……你瞧，他醒过来了！”拉祖米欣大声说。
“我看到了，看到了；喂，现在自我感觉怎么样，啊？”佐西莫夫对拉斯科利尼科夫说，同时凝神细细打量着他，坐到沙发上他的脚边，立刻就尽可能懒洋洋地靠在沙发上了。
“心情一直忧郁，”拉祖米欣接着说，“我们刚刚给他换了内衣，他差点儿没哭起来。”
“这是可以理解的；内衣可以以后再换嘛，既然他自己不愿意……脉搏很正常。头还有点儿痛，是吧？”
“我没有病，我身体完全健康！”拉斯科利尼科夫执拗而又气愤地说，突然在沙发上欠起身来，两眼炯炯发光，可是立刻又倒到枕头上，转过脸去对着墙壁。佐西莫夫凝神注视着他。
“很好……一切都很好，”他懒洋洋地说。“吃过点儿什么吗？”
告诉了他，又问，可以给他吃什么。
“什么都能给他吃……汤，茶……蘑菇和黄瓜当然不能让他吃，牛肉也不行……还有，……啊，干吗尽说些没意思的话呢！……”他和拉祖米欣互相使了个眼色。“药水不要喝了，什么都不要了；明天我再来看看……本来今天也行，……嗯，是的……”
“明天晚上我领他去散散步！”拉祖米欣决定，“去尤苏波夫花园，然后去‘水晶宫’①。”
--------
①一八六二年彼得堡开了一家叫“水晶宫”的大饭店。“水晶宫”这个名称在当时颇为时髦，这是因为伦敦有一座“水晶宫”——为第一次世界工业博览会（一八五一）而建造的一座玻璃大楼。
“明天我连动都不让他动，不过……稍微动动也可以……
嗯，到时候再说吧。”
“唉，真遗憾，今天我刚好要为迁入新居请客，只两步远；要是他也能去就好了。哪怕在我们中间在沙发上躺一会儿也好！你去吗？”拉祖米欣突然对佐西莫夫说，“当心，可别忘了，你答应了的。”
“也许要稍迟一些去。他那里准备了些什么？”
“唉，没弄什么，茶，伏特加，鲱鱼。还有馅饼：来的都是自己人。”
“都是哪些人？”
“都是这儿的人，而且都是新人，真的，——也许只除了老舅舅，不过连他也是新人：昨天刚到彼得堡，不知来办什么事；我和他五年见一次面。”
“他是做什么的？”
“在县里当个邮政局长，就这样混了一辈子……领退休金了，六十五岁，没什么好说的……不过，我爱他。波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇要来：这个区里侦查科的科长……法学院的毕业生。对了，你认识他……”
“他也是你的什么亲戚？”
“最远的远亲；你干吗皱眉？怎么，你们吵过一次架，所以，大概你就不来了，是吗？”
“我才瞧不起他呢……”
“这样最好。嗯，那儿还有几个大学生，一个教师，一个小官，一个乐师，一个军官，扎苗托夫……”
“请你告诉我，你，或者他，”佐西莫夫朝拉斯科利尼科夫那边点了点头，“跟扎苗托夫能有什么共同之处呢？”
“唉，这些唠唠叨叨的人啊！原则……你太讲原则了，立足于原则，就会失去行动自由，这也就像站在弹簧上一样，都不敢随心所欲地动一动；可照我看，人好，——这就是原则，我什么也不想知道。扎苗托夫是个十分出色的人。”
“发不义之财。”
“哼，发不义之财，我才不在乎呢！发不义之财又怎样！”拉祖米欣突然大声叫喊，有点儿不自然地发起脾气来，“难道我向你称赞他发不义之财了吗？我说，只是从某一点来看，他是个好人！要是从各方面去看，还会剩下多少好人？我深信，那样的话，我这个人怕只值一个烤洋葱头，而且还要把你也搭上……”
“这太少了；我会给两个的……”
“可你嘛，我只给一个！再说点儿俏皮话吧！扎苗托夫还是个小孩子，我还会像对待小孩子那样揪他的头发呢，应当把他拉过来，而不是推开他。把一个人推开，这样你就不能改造他了，对一个小孩子来说，更是如此。对待小孩子需要加倍小心。唉，你们这些进步的笨蛋哪，什么都不懂！不尊重别人，也就是侮辱自己……如果你想知道的话，那么我们之间大概也有件共同的事情。”
“很想知道。”
“都是为了漆匠，也就是油漆工的那件案子……我们一定会把他救出来！其实现在也没什么大不了的了。现在案情已经毫无疑问，十分明显了！我们只不过是再加把劲而已。”
“什么油漆工啊！”
“怎么，难道我没讲过吗？没讲过？哦，想起来了，我只跟你说过一开始的情况……喏，就是杀死放高利贷的老太婆，杀死那个官太太的凶杀案……现在有个油漆工也牵连进去了……”
“关于这件凶杀案，你告诉我以前，我就听说了，而且对这件案子甚至还很感兴趣……这多多少少是因为……有一次碰巧……在报纸上也看到过！这……”
“莉扎薇塔也给杀死了！”娜斯塔西娅冷不丁突然对拉斯科利尼科夫说。他一直待在屋里，紧靠在门边，听着。
“莉扎薇塔？”拉斯科利尼科夫用勉强可以听到的声音喃喃地说。
“莉扎薇塔，那个女小贩，你不认识吗？她常到这儿楼下来。还给你补过衬衣呢。”
拉斯科利尼科夫转过脸去，面对着墙壁，在已经很脏、印着小白花的黄色墙纸上挑了一朵上面有褐色条纹、而且很难看的小白花，仔细观察起来：这朵花上有几片花瓣，花瓣上的锯齿是什么样的，上面有几条条纹？他感觉到，他的手脚都麻木了，好像已经瘫痪了，可是他并不试着动一动，仍然执拗地盯着那朵小花。
“那个油漆工怎么样了？”佐西莫夫极为不满地打断了娜斯塔西娅的话。她叹了口气，不作声了。
“也被当作凶手了！”拉祖米欣激动地接着说。
“有什么罪证吗？”
“有什么罪证啊？不过，正是因为有罪证，可这罪证不能算是证据，需要证明的就正是这一点！这完全跟一开始他们逮捕和怀疑这两个，啊！想起来了……科赫和佩斯特里亚科夫一模一样。呸，这一切做得多么愚蠢，就连从旁观者的观点来看，也觉得太恶劣了！佩斯特里亚科夫也许今天会来我家……顺带说一声，罗佳，这件案子你是知道的，还在你病倒以前就发生了，正好是你在警察局里昏倒的头一天，当时那里正在谈论这个案子……”
佐西莫夫好奇地瞅了瞅拉斯科利尼科夫；后者一动不动。
“你知道吗，拉祖米欣？我倒要瞧瞧，你这个爱打抱不平的人到底有多大神通，”佐西莫夫说。
“就算是吧，不过我们还是一定要把他救出来！”拉祖米欣用拳头捶了一下桌子，大声叫嚷。“你知道这儿最气人的是什么吗？气人的倒不是他们撒谎；撒谎总是可以宽恕的；撒谎不是坏事，因为谎言会导致真理。不，气人的是他们说谎，还对自己的谎言顶礼膜拜。我尊敬波尔菲里，不过……譬如说吧，一开始是什么把他们搞糊涂了呢？房门本来是扣着的，可是和管院子的一道回来——却是开着的：可见杀人的就是科赫和佩斯特里亚科夫！瞧，这就是他们的逻辑。”
“你别急呀；只不过是拘留了他们；可不能……顺便说一声：我遇到过这个科赫；原来他向老太婆收购过逾期的抵押品？是吗？”
“对，是个骗子！他也收购票据。是个投机商人。叫他见鬼去吧！可我为什么生气呢，你明白吗？惹我生气的是他们陈腐，庸俗，一成不变，因循守旧……而这里，单从这一个案件里就可以发现一条全新的途径。单是根据心理上的材料就可以看出，应该怎样做才能发现真正的蛛丝马迹。‘我们，’他们说，‘有事实！’可事实并不是一切；至少有一半要看你是不是会分析这些事实！”
“你会分析这些事实吗？”
“不是吗，当你感觉到，凭直觉感觉到，你能为这个案子提供一些帮助的时候，是不能保持沉默的，假如……唉！你了解这个案子的详情细节吗？”
“我正等着听听这个油漆工的情况呢。”
“啊，对了！好，你听着，是这么回事：正好是在凶杀案发生以后第三天，一大清早，他们还在那儿跟科赫和佩斯特里亚科夫纠缠不休的时候，——尽管他们两个每人都已证明了自己的每一步行动：提出的证据是无可怀疑的！——就在这时候，突然出现了最出人意料的事实。有个姓杜什金的人，就是那幢房子对面一家小酒铺的老板，来到警察局，拿来一个装着一副金耳环的小首饰匣，讲了这么一篇故事：‘前天晚上他跑到我这里来，大约是八点刚过，’ 这是日期和时间！你注意到吗？‘在这以前白天就来过我这儿的那个油漆匠，米科拉，拿来了这个装着金耳环和宝石的小匣子，要用这作抵押，跟我借两个卢布，我问：哪儿弄来的？他说，是在人行道上捡来的。我没再多问，’这是杜什金说的，‘给了他一张票子——也就是一个卢布，——因为我想，他不向我抵押，也会向别人抵押，反正一样，他准是买酒，把它喝光，最好还是让东西放在我这儿：最好把它保存起来，说不定以后会有用处，万一出什么事，或者有什么谣言，我立刻就把它交出去。’哼，当然啦，他说的全是谎话，全是胡扯，因为我认识这个杜什金，他自己就是个放高利贷、窝藏脏物的家伙，他从米科拉手里把这件值三十卢布的东西骗过来，根本不是为了‘交出去’。他只不过是害怕了。哼，去他的，你听着；杜什金接着又说：‘这个乡下人，米科拉·杰缅季耶夫，我从小就认识，我们是同省同县，扎拉斯基县的人，所以我们都是梁赞人。米科拉虽然不是酒鬼，可是爱喝两杯，我们大家都知道，他就在这幢房子里干活，跟米特列一道油漆，他跟米特列也是小同乡。他拿到一卢布的票子，马上就把它换开，立刻喝了两杯酒，拿了找头就走了，那时候我没看到米特列跟他在一起。第二天我们听说，阿廖娜·伊万诺芙娜和她妹妹莉扎薇塔·伊万诺芙娜叫人拿斧头杀死了，我们都认得她们，这时耳环让我起了疑心，——因为我们知道，死者经常放债，收下人家的东西，作为抵押。我到那幢房子里去找他们，小心谨慎地悄悄打听，首先问：米科拉在这儿吗？米特列说，米科拉出去玩儿去了，到天亮才回来，喝得醉醺醺的，在家里待了约摸十分钟，又出去了，后来米特列就没再见到过他，活儿是他独自个儿干完的。他们干活的那儿跟被人杀死的那两个人走的是同一道楼梯，在二楼。我们听了这些话以后，当时对谁也没说过什么，’这是杜什金说的，‘杀人的事，我们尽可能都打听清楚了，回到家里，心里还是觉得怀疑。今天一清早，八点钟，’就是说，这已经是第三天了，你明白吗？‘我看到，米科拉进来找我了，他不大清醒，可也不是醉得很厉害，跟他说话，他还能听得懂。他坐到长凳上，一声不响。除了他，那时候酒店里只有一个外人，还有一个人在长凳上睡觉，跟我们认识，还有两个孩子，是我们那儿跑堂的。我问：“你看见米特列了吗？”他说：“没有，没看见。”“你也没来过这儿？”“没来过，”他说，“有两天多没来过了。”“昨天夜里你在哪里过的夜？”他说：“在沙区①，住在科洛姆纳②的人那里。”我说：“耳环是打哪儿弄来的？”“在人行道上捡的，”他说这话的时候神气不大对头，而且不看着我。我说：“你听说过就在那天晚上，那个时刻，那道楼梯上，发生了这么一桩事吗？” “没有，”他说，“没听说过，”可是他瞪着眼听着，脸刷地一下子变得煞白，简直像刷墙的白灰。我一边讲给他听，一边瞅着他，可他拿起帽子，站了起来。这时我想留住他，我说：“等等，米科拉，不喝一杯吗？”说着我向一个跑堂的小鬼使了个眼色，叫他在门口拦着，我从柜台后走了出来：他立刻从我身边跑开，逃到街上，拔脚就跑，钻进了一条小胡同里，——一转眼就不见了。这时我不再怀疑了，因为他犯了罪，这是明摆着的……’”
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①沙区是彼得堡的一个远郊区，因那里的土壤是沙土而得名。
②科洛姆纳是彼得堡的另一个区。
③量酒的容量，约合○·○六公升。
“那还用说！”佐西莫夫说。
“别忙！你先听完！他们当然立刻去搜捕米科拉：把杜什金也拘留了，进行了搜查，米特列也给拘留了起来；也审问了科洛姆纳的居民，——不过前天突然把米科拉带来了：在×城门附近一家客店里拘留了他。他来到那里，从脖子上摘下一个银十字架，要用十字架换一什卡利克③酒喝。换给了他。过了一会儿，一个乡下女人到牛棚里去，从板壁缝里看到：他在隔壁板棚里把一根宽腰带拴到房梁上，结了个活扣；站到一块木头上，想把活扣套到自己脖子上；那女人拼命叫喊起来，大家都跑来了，问他：‘你是什么人！’他说：‘你们带我到××分局去好了，我全都招认’。把他客客气气地送到了这个警察分局，也就是送到了这里。于是审问他，问这，问那，叫什么，干什么的，多大年纪，——‘二十二岁’——以及其他等等。问：‘你跟米特列一道干活的时候，在某时某刻，看到楼梯上有什么人吗？’回答：‘大家都知道，总有人上来下去，不过我们没注意。’‘没听到什么响声，什么喧闹声吗？’‘没听到什么特别的响声。’‘当天你知道不知道，米科拉，就在那天那个时候，有这么一个寡妇和她妹妹被人杀害，遭到了抢劫？’‘我什么也不知道。第三天才在小酒店里头一次听阿凡纳西·帕夫雷奇说起这件事。’‘耳环是从哪儿弄来的？’‘在人行道上捡的。’‘为什么第二天你没和米特列一道去干活？’‘因为我喝酒去了。’‘在哪儿喝酒？’‘在某处某处。’‘为什么从杜什金那儿逃跑？’‘因为当时我很害怕。’‘怕什么？’‘怕给我判罪。’‘既然你觉得自己没犯罪，那你怎么会害怕呢？……’嗯，信不信由你，佐西莫夫，这个问题提出来了，而且一字不差，就是这么问的，这我肯定知道，人家准确无误地把原话告诉了我！怎么样？怎么样？”
“啊，不，但罪证是有的。”
“可现在我说的不是罪证，而是问题，说的是他们怎样理解实质！唉，见鬼！……他们一再施加压力，逼供，于是他就招认了：‘不是在人行道上捡的，’他说，‘是在我跟米特列一道油漆的那套房子里捡到的。’‘怎么捡到的？’‘是这么捡到的：我和米特列油漆了一整天，一直到八点钟，已经打算走了，可是米特列拿起刷子，往我脸上抹油漆，他抹了我一脸漆，转身就跑，我在他后面追。我在后面追他，边追边喊；刚一下楼梯，正往大门口跑，我一下子撞到管院子的和几位先生身上，有几位先生跟他在一起，我记不得了，为了这，管院子的把我大骂了一顿，另一个管院子的也骂了我，管院子的人的老婆也跑出来骂我们，有一位先生和一位太太走进大门，他也骂我们，因为我和米特列横躺在那里，拦住了路：我揪住米特列的头发，把他按倒在地上，拿拳头捶他，米特列也从我身子底下揪住我的头发，拿拳头捶我，我们这样打架不是因为谁恨谁，而是因为我们要好，闹着玩儿。后来米特列挣脱出来，往街上跑去，我跟在他后面追，没追上，就一个人回到那套房子里，——因为，得收拾收拾。我动手收拾东西，等着米特列，他也许会回来。在穿堂门后的墙角落里忽然踩到一个小盒子。我一看，有个小盒子，包在纸里。我把纸拆开，看到有几个那么小的小钩，我把小钩扳开——原来小盒子里装着耳环……’”
“在门后边？放在门后边？在门后边？”拉斯科利尼科夫突然高声叫喊，用浑浊、惊恐的目光瞅着拉祖米欣，用一只手撑着，在沙发上慢慢欠起身来。
“是啊……怎么呢？你怎么了？你怎么这样？”拉祖米欣也从座位上欠起身来。
“没什么！……”拉斯科利尼科夫用勉强可以听到的声音回答，又倒在枕头上，转过脸去，对着墙壁。有一会工夫，大家都默不作声。
“大概，他打了个盹儿，还没完全睡醒，”最后，拉祖米欣疑问地望着佐西莫夫说；佐西莫夫轻轻地摇摇头，表示不同意他的说法。
“好，接着说吧，”佐西莫夫说，“以后怎么样了？”
“以后怎么样了？他一看到耳环，立刻把那套房子和米特列全都忘了，拿起帽子，跑到了杜什金那里，大家都已经知道，他从杜什金那里拿到了一个卢布，却对杜什金撒了个谎，说是在人行道上捡的，而且马上就把钱换开，买酒喝了。对于杀人的事，他还是说：‘什么都不知道，只是到第三天才听说的。’‘为什么到现在你一直不露面呢？’‘因为害怕。’‘为什么要上吊？’‘因为担心。’‘担心什么？’‘给我判罪。’瞧，这就是事情的全部经过。现在你是怎么想呢，他们从中得出了什么结论？”
“有什么好想的呢，线索是有的，不管是什么线索吧，可总是线索。事实。你不会认为该把你的油漆工释放了吧？”
“可是现在他们已经认定他就是凶手了！他们已经毫不怀疑……”
“你胡扯；你太性急了。那么耳环呢？你得同意，如果耳环就是在那一天那个时候从老太婆的箱子里落到尼古拉①手里的，——你得同意，它们总得通过某种方式才能落到他的手里，对不对呢？在这类案件的侦查过程中，这具有相当重要的意义。”
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①尼古拉即米科拉。
“怎么落到他手里的！怎么落到他手里的？”拉祖米欣高声叫喊，“难道你，医生，作为一个首先必须研究人、比任何人都更有机会研究人的本性的医生，难道你还没看出，根据所有这些材料来看，这个尼古拉的本性是什么样的吗？难道你还没一眼看出，在审问中他供述的一切都是绝对不容怀疑的实情吗？耳环正是像他供述的那样落到他手里的。他踩到了小盒子，于是把它捡了起来！”
“绝对不容怀疑的实情！可是他自己也供认，从一开始他就撒了谎。”
“你听我说。你留心听着：管院子的、科赫、佩斯特里亚科夫、另一个管院子的、第一个管院子的人的妻子、当时正坐在她屋里的一个女人、七等文官克留科夫，就在这时候他正从马车上下来，搀着一位太太的手走进大门，——所有的人，也就是有八个或九个证人，都异口同声地证明，尼古拉把德米特里①按倒在地上，压在他身上用拳头揍他，德米特里也揪住尼古拉的头发，用拳头揍他。他们横躺在路上，拦住了道路；四面八方都在骂他们，可他们却‘像小孩子一样’（证人们的原话），一个压在一个身上，尖声大叫，打架，哈哈大笑，两人争先恐后地哈哈大笑，两人的脸都滑稽得要命，像孩子样互相追赶着，跑到街上去了。你听到了吗？现在请你注意，可别忽略过去：楼上尸体还有热气，听到了吗，发现尸体的时候，尸体还有热气！如果是他们杀的，或者是尼古拉独自一个人杀的，还撬开箱子，抢走了财物，或者仅仅是以某种方式参加了抢劫，那么请允许我向你提个问题，只提一个问题：这样的精神状态，也就是尖声叫喊，哈哈大笑，像小孩子样在大门口打架，——这样的精神状态与斧头、鲜血、恶毒的诡计、小心谨慎、抢劫，能够协调得起来吗？刚刚杀了人，总共才不过过了五分钟或十分钟，——所以得出这一结论，是因为尸体还有热气，——他们知道马上就会有人来，却突然丢下尸体，让房门散着离开了那套房间，而且丢下了到手的财物，像小孩子样在路上滚作一团，哈哈大笑，把大家的注意力都吸引到自己身上来，而异口同声证明这一情况的足有十个证人！”
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①德米特里即米特列。
“当然，奇怪！当然，这不可能，不过……”
“不，老兄，不是不过，而是，如果就在那同一天同一时刻落到尼古拉手里的耳环的确是对他不利的物证——然而这物证已直接由他的供词作了说明，所以这还是一个有争议的物证，——那就也应该考虑到那些证明他无罪的事实，何况这些事实都是无法反驳的呢。你是怎么认为呢，根据我们法学的特性来看，他们会不会，或者能不能把仅仅基于心理上不可能、仅仅基于精神状态的事实看作无法反驳的事实，因而可以推翻所有认为有罪的物证，而不管这些物证是什么东西？不，他们决不会接受这样的事实，无论如何也不会接受的，因为他们发现了那个小盒子，而这个人又想上吊，‘如果他不是觉得自己有罪，就不可能这么做！’这是个主要问题，这就是我为什么着急的原因！你要明白！”
“我看出来了，你在着急。等等，我忘了问一声：有什么能够证明，装着耳环的小盒子确实是老太婆箱子里的东西？”
“这已经证明了，”拉祖米欣皱起眉头，好像不乐意似地回答，“科赫认出了这东西，并且指出了谁是抵押人，后者肯定地证明，东西确实是他的。”
“糟糕。现在还有一个问题：科赫和佩斯特里亚科夫上楼去的时候，有没有人看到过尼古拉，能不能以什么方式证明这一点？”
“问题就在这里了，谁也没看到过他，”拉祖米欣感到遗憾地说，“糟就糟在这里，就连科赫和佩斯特里亚科夫上楼去的时候也没看到他们，虽说他们的证明现在也没有多大的意义。他们说：‘我们看到，房门开着，想必有人在里面干活，不过打开前门经过的时候没有注意，也记不清当时里面有没有工人了。’”
“嗯哼。所以仅有的能为他们辩护的理由，就是他们互相用拳头捶打和哈哈大笑了。即使这是有力的证据吧，不过……现在请问：你自己对全部事实作何解释呢？如果耳环的确是像他供述的那样拾到的，那你对这一事实又怎样解释呢？”
“我怎样解释吗？可这有什么好解释的：事情是明摆着的！至少侦查这件案子的途径已经清清楚楚，得到证实了，而且正是这个小盒子证实的。真正的凶手无意中失落了这副耳环。科赫和佩斯特里亚科夫在楼上敲门的时候，凶手扣上门躲在里面。科赫干了件蠢事，下楼去了；这时凶手跳出来，也往楼下跑，因为他再没有别的出路。在楼梯上，为了躲开科赫、佩斯特里亚科夫和管院子的，他藏进那套空房子里，而这恰好是在德米特里和尼古拉从屋里跑出去的那个时候，管院子的和那两个人从门前经过的时候，他站在门后，等到脚步声消失了，他才沉着地走下楼去，而这又正好是在德米特里和尼古拉跑到街上去的那个时候，大家都已经散了，大门口已经一个人也没有了。也许有人看到了他，可是没注意；进进出出的人多着呢！当他躲在门后的时候，小盒子从口袋里掉了出来，可他没发觉掉了，因为他顾不上这个。小盒子明确无误地证明，真正的凶手正是站在那里的。全部情况就是如此！”
“不简单！不，老兄，这真够巧妙的。这太巧妙了！”
“可是为什么，为什么呢？”
“因为这一切凑得太巧了……而且错综复杂……简直像演戏一样。”
“唉！”拉祖米欣大声叫道，但就在这时，房门开了，进来一个从未见过的人，在座的人谁也不认识他。