Crime And Punishment Page-161

Crime And Punishment

“Who am I?” “Yes.” “You want to know? Come to the police station, I’ll tell you.” The workmen looked at him in amazement. “It’s time for us to go, we are late. Come along, Alyoshka. We must lock up,” said the elder workman. “Very well, come along,” said Raskolnikov indifferently, and going out first, he went slowly downstairs. “Hey, porter,” he cried in the gateway. At the entrance several people were standing, staring at the passers-by; the two porters, a peasant woman, a man in a long coat and a few others. Raskolnikov went straight up to them. “What do you want?” asked one of the porters. “Have you been to the police office?” “I’ve just been there. What do you want?” “Is it open?” “Of course.” “Is the assistant there?” “He was there for a time. What do you want?” Raskolnikov made no reply, but stood beside them lost in thought. “He’s been to look at the flat,” said the elder workman, coming forward. “Which flat?” “Where we are at work. ‘Why have you washed away the blood?’ says he. ‘There has been a murder here,’says he, ‘and I’ve come to take it.’ And he began ringing at the bell, all but broke it. ‘Come to the police station,’ says he. ‘I’ll tell you everything there.’ He wouldn’t leave us.” The porter looked at Raskolnikov, frowning and perplexed. “Who are you?” he shouted as impressively as he could. “I am Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, formerly a student, I live in Shil’s house, not far from here, flat Number 14, ask the porter, he knows me.” Raskolnikov said all this in a lazy, dreamy voice, not turning round, but looking intently into the darkening street. “Why have you been to the flat?” “To look at it.” “What is there to look at?”