received from you such an uncompromising refusal to explain to us the source from which you obtained the money found upon you, we are, at the present moment-'
'What is the stone in your ring?' Mitya interrupted suddenly, as though awakening from a reverie. He pointed to one of the three large rings adorning Nikolay Parfenovitch's right hand.
'Ring?' repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch with surprise.
'Yes, that one... on your middle finger, with the little veins in it, what stone is that?' Mitya persisted, like a peevish child.
'That's a smoky topaz,' said Nikolay Parfenovitch, smiling. 'Would you like to look at it? I'll take it off...'
'No, don't take it off,' cried Mitya furiously, suddenly waking up, and angry with himself. 'Don't take it off... there's no need.... Damn it!... Gentlemen, you've sullied my heart! Can you suppose that I would conceal it from you, if I had really killed my father, that I would shuffle, lie, and hide myself? No, that's not like Dmitri Karamazov, that he couldn't do, and if I were guilty, I swear I shouldn't have waited for your coming, or for the sunrise as I meant at first, but should have killed myself before this, without waiting for the dawn! I know that about myself now. I couldn't have learnt so much in twenty years as I've found out in this accursed night!... And should I have been like this on this night, and at this moment, sitting with you, could I have talked like this, could I have moved like this, could I have looked at you and at the world like this, if I had really been the murderer of my father, when the very thought of having accidentally killed Grigory gave me no peace all night--not from fear--oh, not simply from fear of your punishment! The disgrace of it! And you expect me to be open with such scoffers as you, who see nothing and believe in nothing, blind moles and scoffers, and to tell you another nasty thing I've done, another disgrace, even if that would save me from your accusation! No, better Siberia! The man who opened the door to my father and went in at that door, he killed him, he robbed him. Who was he? I'm racking my brains and can't think who. But I can tell you it was not Dmitri Karamazov, and that's all I can tell you, and that's enough, enough, leave me alone.... Exile me, punish me, but don't bother me any more. I'll say no more. Call your witnesses!'
Mitya uttered his sudden monologue as though he were determined to be absolutely silent for the future. The prosecutor watched him the whole time and only when he had ceased speaking, observed, as though it were the most ordinary thing, with the most frigid and composed air:
'Oh, about the open door of which you spoke just now, we may as well inform you, by the way, now, of a very interesting piece of evidence of the greatest importance both to you and to us, that has been given us by Grigory, the old man you wounded. On his recovery, he clearly and emphatically stated, in reply to our questions, that when, on coming out to the steps, and hearing a noise in the garden, he made up his mind to go into it through the little gate which stood open, before he noticed you running, as you have told us already, in the dark from the open window where you saw your father, he, Grigory, glanced to the left, and, while noticing the open window, observed at the same time, much nearer to him, the door, standing wide open- that door which you have stated to have been shut the whole time you were in the garden. I will not conceal from you that Grigory himself confidently affirms and bears witness that you must have run from that door, though, of course, he did not see you do so with his own eyes, since he only noticed you first some distance away in the garden, running towards the fence.'
Mitya had leapt up from his chair half-way through this speech.
'Nonsense!' he yelled, in a sudden frenzy, 'it's a barefaced lie. He couldn't have seen the door open because it was shut. He's lying!'
'I consider it my duty to repeat that he is firm in his statement. He does not waver. He adheres to it. We've cross-examined him several times.'
'Precisely. I have cross-examined him several times,' Nikolay Parfenovitch confirmed warmly.
'It's false, false! It's either an attempt to slander me, or the hallucination of a madman,' Mitya still shouted. 'He's simply raving, from loss of blood, from the wound. He must have fancied it when he came to.... He's raving.'
'Yes, but he noticed the open door, not when he came to after his injuries, but before that, as soon as he went into the garden from the lodge.'
'But it's false, it's false! It can't be so! He's slandering me from spite.... He couldn't have seen it... I didn't come from the door,' gasped Mitya.
The prosecutor turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch and said to him impressively:
'Confront him with it.'
'Do you recognise this object?'
Nikolay Parfenovitch laid upon the table a large and thick official envelope, on which three seals still remained intact. The envelope was empty, and slit open at one end. Mitya stared at it with open eyes.
'It... it must be that envelope of my father's, the envelope that contained the three thousand roubles... and if there's inscribed on it, allow me, ‘For my little chicken'... yes--three thousand!' he shouted, 'do you see, three thousand, do you see?'
'Of course, we see. But we didn't find the money in it. It was empty, and lying on the floor by the bed, behind the screen.'
For some seconds Mitya stood as though thunderstruck.
'Gentlemen, it's Smerdyakov!' he shouted suddenly, at the top of his
voice. 'It's he who's murdered him! He's robbed him! No one else knew where the old man hid the envelope. It's Smerdyakov, that's clear, now!'
'But you, too, knew of the envelope and that it was under the pillow.'
'I never knew it. I've never seen it. This is the first time I've looked at it. I'd only heard of it from Smerdyakov.... He was the only one who knew where the old man kept it hidden, I didn't know...' Mitya was completely breathless.
'But you told us yourself that the envelope was under your deceased father's pillow. You especially stated that it was under the pillow, so you must have known it.'
'We've got it written down,' confirmed Nikolay Parfenovitch.
'Nonsense! It's absurd! I'd no idea it was under the pillow. And perhaps it wasn't under the pillow at all.... It was just a chance guess that it was under the pillow. What does Smerdyakov say? Have you asked him where it was? What does Smerdyakov say? That's the chief point.... And I went out of my way to tell lies against myself.... I told you without thinking that it was under the pillow, and now you- Oh, you know how one says the wrong thing, without meaning it. No one knew but Smerdyakov, only Smerdyakov, and no one else.... He didn't even tell me where it was! But it's his doing, his doing; there's no doubt about it, he murdered him, that's as clear as daylight now,' Mitya exclaimed more and more frantically, repeating himself incoherently, and growing more and more exasperated and excited. 'You must understand that, and arrest him at once.... He must have killed him while I was running away and while Grigory was unconscious, that's clear now.... He gave the signal and father opened to him... for no one but he knew the signal, and without the signal father would never have opened the door....'
'But you're again forgetting the circumstance,' the prosecutor observed, still speaking with the same restraint, though with a note of triumph, 'that there was no need to give the signal if the door already stood open when you were there, while you were in the garden...'
'The door, the door,' muttered Mitya, and he stared speechless at the prosecutor. He sank back helpless in his chair. All were silent.
'Yes, the door!... It's a nightmare! God is against me!' he exclaimed, staring before him in complete stupefaction.
'Come, you see,' the prosecutor went on with dignity, 'and you can judge for yourself, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. On the one hand, we have the evidence of the open door from which you ran out, a fact which overwhelms you and us. On the other side, your incomprehensible, persistent, and, so to speak, obdurate silence with regard to the source from which you obtained the money which was so suddenly seen in your hands, when only three hours earlier, on your own showing, you pledged your pistols for the sake of ten roubles! In view of all these facts, judge for yourself. What are we to believe, and what can we depend upon? And don't accuse us of being ‘frigid, cynical, scoffing people,’ who are incapable of believing in the generous impulses of your heart.... Try to enter into our position...'
Mitya was indescribably agitated. He turned pale.
'Very well!' he exclaimed suddenly, 'I will tell you my secret. I'll tell you where I got the money!... I'll reveal my shame, that I may not have to blame myself or you hereafter.'
'And believe me, Dmitri Fyodorovitch,' put in Nikolay Parfenovitch, in a voice of almost pathetic delight, 'that
