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"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?"
The latter returned his glances without flinching. And it appeared strange to Zametoff that a full minute seemed to pass as they kept fixedly staring at each other in this manner. "Oh, so that's what you have been reading?" Zametoff at last cried impatiently. "What is there in that?"
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.
We had purposely informed him of some of our suspicions, hoping that he might make you uneasy, for we knew perfectly well that Razoumikhin would not be able to contain his indignation. Zametoff, in particular, had been struck by your boldness, and it certainly was a bold thing for a person to exclaim all of a sudden in an open traktir: 'I am an assassin! That was really too much of a good thing.
"In my opinion, you were talking very sensibly and even with considerable shrewdness; only I thought you too irritable," observed Zametoff off-handedly. "Do let us have some tea! We are as dry as fishes!" exclaimed Razoumikhin. "Good idea! But perhaps you would like something more substantial before tea, would you?" "Look alive, then!" Porphyrius Petrovitch went out to order tea.
"That his hands should shake?" replied Zametoff. "No; that is quite likely. Yours would not, I suppose? I could not endure it, though. For a paltry reward of a hundred rubles to go on such a mission! And where? Into a banker's office with forged notes! I should certainly lose my head. Would not you?" Raskolnikoff felt again a strong impulse to make a face at him. A shiver ran down his back.
The latter returned his glances without flinching. And it appeared strange to Zametoff that a full minute seemed to pass as they kept fixedly staring at each other in this manner. "Oh, so that's what you have been reading?" Zametoff at last cried impatiently. "What is there in that?"
"What if I killed the old woman and Elizabeth?" he asked suddenly, and then came to himself. Zametoff turned quite pale; then his face changed to a smile. "Can it be so?" he muttered to himself. Raskolnikoff eyed him savagely. "Speak out. What do you think? Yes? Is it so?" "Of course not. I believe it now less than ever," replied Zametoff hastily. "Caught at last! caught, my fine fellow!
In a word, if you remember, you maintained that there are men in existence who can, or more accurately, who have an absolute right to commit all kinds of wicked and criminal acts men for whom, to a certain extent, laws do not exist." "Is it not very likely that some coming Napoleon did for Alena Ivanovna last week?" suddenly blustered Zametoff from his corner.
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.
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