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The police were glad that they had found out who the man was.

Raskolnikov gave his own name and address, and, as earnestly as

if it had been his father, he besought the police to carry the

unconscious Marmeladov to his lodging at once.

"Just here, three houses away," he said eagerly, "the house

belongs to Kozel, a rich German. He was going home, no doubt

drunk. I know him, he is a drunkard. He has a family there, a

wife, children, he has one daughter.... It will take time to take

him to the hospital, and there is sure to be a doctor in the

house. I'll pay, I'll pay! At least he will be looked after at

home... they will help him at once. But he'll die before you get

him to the hospital." He managed to slip something unseen into

the policeman's hand. But the thing was straightforward and

legitimate, and in any case help was closer here. They raised the

injured man; people volunteered to help.