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"I shall not come, Razumihin." Raskolnikov turned and walked

away.

"I bet you will," Razumihin shouted after him. "I refuse to know

you if you don't! Stay, hey, is Zametov in there?"

"Yes."

"Did you see him?"

"Yes."

"Talked to him?"

"Yes."

"What about? Confound you, don't tell me then. Potchinkov's

house, 47, Babushkin's flat, remember!"

Raskolnikov walked on and turned the corner into Sadovy Street.

Razumihin looked after him thoughtfully. Then with a wave of his

hand he went into the house but stopped short of the stairs.

"Confound it," he went on almost aloud. "He talked sensibly but

yet... I am a fool! As if madmen didn't talk sensibly! And this

was just what Zossimov seemed afraid of." He struck his finger on

his forehead. "What if... how could I let him go off alone? He

may drown himself.... Ach, what a blunder! I can't." And he ran

back to overtake Raskolnikov, but there was no trace of him. With

a curse he returned with rapid steps to the Palais de Cristal to

question Zametov.