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- 166 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
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?"
"Take him straight to the police station," the man in the
long coat jerked in abruptly.
Raskolnikov looked intently at him over his shoulder and said
in the same slow, lazy tone:
"Come along,"
"Yes, take him," the man went on more confidently. "Why
was he going into that, what's in his mind, eh?"
"He's not drunk, but God knows what's the matter with
him," muttered the workman.
"But what do you want?" the porter shouted again, begin-
ning to get angry in earnest — "Why are you hanging about?"
"You funk the police station then?" said Raskolnikov jeer-
ingly.
"How funk it? Why are you hanging about?"
"He's a rogue!" shouted the peasant woman.
"Why waste time talking to him?" cried the other porter,
a huge peasant in a full open coat and with keys on his belt.
"Get along! He is a rogue and no mistake. Get along!"
And seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder he flung him into
the street. He lurched forward, but recovered his footing,
looked at the spectators in silence and walked away.
"Strange man!" observed the workman.
"There are strange folks about nowadays," said the woman.
"You should have taken him to the police station all the
same," said the man in the long coat.
"Better have nothing to do with im," decided the big porter.
"A regular rogue! Just what he wants, you may be sure, but
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