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All kinds of thoughts were at work in Raskolnikoff's brain. He was excited. "They don't even take pains to dissemble; they certainly don't mince matters as far as I am concerned: that is something, at all events! Since Porphyrius knew next to nothing about me, why on earth should he have spoken with Nicodemus Thomich Zametoff at all?
For a year I should let them lie for two years, three years. Now then, search for them! Where are they?" "You are indeed mad," said Zametoff, also in a low tone, but turning away from Raskolnikoff. The latter's eyes glistened, he became paler than ever, while his upper lip trembled violently.
Zametoff saw what I had by me, and perhaps he can say whether I was in my right senses yesterday or whether I was delirious? Perhaps he will judge as to our quarrel." Nothing would have pleased him better than there and then to have strangled that gentleman, whose taciturnity and equivocal facial expression irritated him.
The latter was very much taken aback, and, if not offended, seemed a good deal surprised. "How strange you are!" said Zametoff seriously. "You have the fever still on you; you are raving!" "Am I, my fine fellow am I strange? Yes, but I am very interesting to you, am I not?" "Interesting?" "Yes. You ask me what I am reading, what I am looking for; then I am looking through a number of papers.
Razoumikhin on that occasion ah! the stone, the stone, you will remember, under which the stolen things are hidden? I fancy I can see it from here; it is somewhere in a kitchen garden it was a kitchen garden you mentioned to Zametoff, was it not? And then, when your article was broached, we fancied we discovered a latent thought beneath every word you uttered.
"Nothing, dear boy, nothing," said Raskolnikoff, with a smile and slapping Zametoff on the shoulders. "I am not in earnest, but simply in fun, as your workman said, when he wrestled with Dmitri, you know, in that murder case." "Do you know about that?" "Yes, and perhaps more than you do." "You are very peculiar. It is a pity you came out. You are ill." "Do I seem strange?"
Then I was at your place " Raskolnikoff laid down the paper and turned to Zametoff. On his lips was a slight provoking smile. "I know you were," he replied, "I heard so. You searched for my boot. To what agreeable places you resort. Who gives you champagne to drink?" "We were drinking together. What do you mean?"
He went out, shaking from some savage hysterical emotion, a mixture of delight, gloom, and weariness. His face was drawn as if he had just recovered from a fit; and, as his agitation of mind increased, so did his weakness. Meanwhile, Zametoff remained in the restaurant where Raskolnikoff had left him, deeply buried in thought, considering the different points Raskolnikoff had placed before him.
Their words are, in themselves, not very extraordinary ones so much must be allowed; but a double meaning may lurk beneath them. Why did Porphyrius, in speaking of the old woman, simply say 'At her place? Why did Zametoff observe that I had spoken very sensibly? Why their peculiar manner? yes, it is this manner of theirs. How is it possible that all this cannot have struck Razoumikhin?
"Yes; what are you reading?" "The paper." "There are a number of fires." "I am not reading about them." He looked curiously at Zametoff, and a malicious smile distorted his lips. "No, fires are not in my line," he added, winking at Zametoff. "Now, I should like to know, sweet youth, what it signifies to you what I read?" "Nothing at all. I only asked. Perhaps I " "Listen.
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