ect and would like to know how I should
behave in that case, too?" he asked with displeasure.

"I should like to," Zametov answered firmly and seriously. Somewhat too
much earnestness began to appear in his words and looks.

"Very much?"

"Very much!"

"All right then. This is how I should behave," Raskolnikov began, again
bringing his face close to Zametov's, again staring at him and speaking
in a whisper, so that the latter positively shuddered. "This is what
I should have done. I should have taken the money and jewels, I should
have walked out of there and have gone straight to some deserted place
with fences round it and scarcely anyone to be seen, some kitchen garden
or place of that sort. I should have looked out beforehand some stone
weighing a hundredweight or more which had been lying in the corner from
the time the house was built. I would lift that stone--there would sure
to be a hollow under it, and I would put the jewels and money in that
hole. Then I'd roll the stone back so that it would look as before,
would press it down with my foot and walk away. And for a year or two,
three maybe, I would not touch it. And, well, they could search! There'd
be no trace."

"You are a madman," said Zametov, and for some reason he too spoke in a
whisper, and moved away from Raskolnikov, whose eyes were glittering. He
had turned fearfully pale and his upper lip was twitching and quivering.
He bent down as close as possible to Zametov, and his lips began to move
without uttering a word. This lasted for half a minute; he knew what he
was doing, but could not restrain himself. The terrible word trembled on
his lips, like the latch on that door; in another moment it will break
out, in another moment he will let it go, he will speak out.

"And what if it was I who murdered the old woman and Lizaveta?" he said
suddenly and--realised what he had done.

Zametov looked wildly at him and turned white as the tablecloth. His
face wore a contorted smile.

"But is it possible?" he brought out faintly. Raskolnikov looked
wrathfully at him.

"Own up that you believed it, yes, you did?"

"Not a bit of it, I believe it less than ever now," Zametov cried
hastily.

"I've caught my cock-sparrow! So you did believe it before, if now you
believe less than ever?"

"Not at all," cried Zametov, obviously embarrassed. "Have you been
frightening me so as to lead up to this?"

"You don't believe it then? What were you talking about b