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So this was the solution of yesterday's horror. The most awful

thought was that he had been actually almost lost, had almost

done for himself on account of such a trivial circumstance. So

this man could tell nothing except his asking about the flat and

the blood stains. So Porfiry, too, had nothing but that delirium,

no facts but this psychology which cuts both ways, nothing

positive. So if no more facts come to light (and they must not,

they must not!) then... then what can they do to him? How can

they convict him, even if they arrest him? And Porfiry then had

only just heard about the flat and had not known about it before.

"Was it you who told Porfiry... that I'd been there?" he cried,

struck by a sudden idea.

"What Porfiry?"

"The head of the detective department?"

"Yes. The porters did not go there, but I went."

"To-day?"

"I got there two minutes before you. And I heard, I heard it all,

how he worried you."

"Where? What? When?"

"Why, in the next room. I was sitting there all the time."