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"What do you mean?" Razumihin shouted suddenly, as though he had

reflected and realised. "Why, it was on the day of the murder the

painters were at work, and he was there three days before? What

are you asking?"

"Foo! I have muddled it!" Porfiry slapped himself on the

forehead. "Deuce take it! This business is turning my brain!" he

addressed Raskolnikov somewhat apologetically. "It would be such

a great thing for us to find out whether anyone had seen them

between seven and eight at the flat, so I fancied you could

perhaps have told us something.... I quite muddled it."

"Then you should be more careful," Razumihin observed grimly.

The last words were uttered in the passage. Porfiry Petrovitch

saw them to the door with excessive politeness.

They went out into the street gloomy and sullen, and for some

steps they did not say a word. Raskolnikov drew a deep breath.

CHAPTER VI

"I don't believe it, I can't believe it!" repeated Razumihin,

trying in perplexity to refute Raskolnikov's arguments.