Porphyrius Petrovitch went out to order tea. All kinds of thoughts were at work in Raskolnikoff's brain. He was excited. "They don't even take pains to dissemble; they certainly don't mince matters as far as I am concerned: that is something, at all events! Since Porphyrius knew next to nothing about me, why on earth should he have spoken with Nicodemus Thomich Zametoff at all? They even scorn to deny that they are on my track, almost like a pack of hounds! They certainly speak out plainly enough!" he said, trembling with rage. "Well, do so, as bluntly as you like, but don't play with me as the cat would with the mouse! That's not quite civil, Porphyrius Petrovitch; I won't quite allow that yet! I'll make a stand and tell you some plain truths to your faces, and then you shall find out my real opinion about you!" He had some difficulty in breathing. "But supposing that all this is pure fancy?--a kind of mirage? Suppose I had misunderstood? Let me try and keep up my nasty part, and not commit myself, like the fool, by blind anger! Ought I to give them credit for intentions they have not? Their words are, in themselves, not very extraordinary ones--so much must be allowed; but a double meaning may lurk beneath them. Why did Porphyrius, in speaking of the old woman, simply say 'At her place?' Why did Zametoff observe that I had spoken very sensibly? Why their peculiar manner?--yes, it is this manner of theirs. How is it possible that all this cannot have struck Razoumikhin? The booby never notices anything! But I seem to be feverish again! Did Porphyrius give me a kind of wink just now, or was I deceived in some way? The idea is absurd! Why should he wink at me? Perhaps they intend to upset my nervous organization, and, by so doing, drive me to extremes! Either the whole thing is a phantasmagoria, or--they know!" These thoughts flashed through his mind with the rapidity of lightning. Porphyrius Petrovitch came back a moment afterwards. He seemed in a very good temper. "When I left your place yesterday, old fellow, I was really not well," he commenced, addressing Razoumikhin with a cheeriness which was only just becoming apparent, "but that is all gone now." "Did you find the evening a pleasant one? I left you in the thick of the fun; who came off best?" "Nobody, of course. They caviled to their heart's content over their old arguments." "Fancy, Rodia, the discussion last evening turned on the question: 'Does crime exist? Yes, or No.' And the nonsense they talked on the subject!" "What is there extraordinary in the query? It is the social question without the charm of novelty," answered Raskolnikoff abruptly. "Talking of crime," said Porphyrius Petrovitch, speaking to Raskolnikoff, "I remember a production of yours which greatly interested me. I am speaking about your article _on crime_. I don't very well remember the title. I was delighted in reading it two months ago in the _Periodical Word."_