He was exactly the same as yesterday; the same figure, the same dress, but there was a great change in his face; he looked dejected and sighed deeply.
If he had only put his hand up to his cheek and leaned his head on one side he would have looked exactly like a peasant woman.
"What do you want?" asked Raskolnikov, numb with terror.
The man was still silent, but suddenly he bowed down almost to the ground, touching it with his finger.
"What is it?" cried Raskolnikov.
"I have sinned," the man articulated softly.
"How?"
"By evil thoughts."
They looked at one another.
"I was vexed.
When you came, perhaps in drink, and bade the porters go to the police station and asked about the blood, I was vexed that they let you go and took you for drunken.
I was so vexed that I lost my sleep.
And remembering the address we came here yesterday and asked for you...."
"Who came?" Raskolnikov interrupted, instantly beginning to recollect.
"I did, I've wronged you."
"Then you come from that house?"
"I was standing at the gate with them... don't you remember?
We have carried on our trade in that house for years past.
We cure and prepare hides, we take work home... most of all I was vexed...."
And the whole scene of the day before yesterday in the gateway came clearly before Raskolnikov's mind; he recollected that there had been several people there besides the porters, women among them.
He remembered one voice had suggested taking him straight to the police-station.
He could not recall the face of the speaker, and even now he did not recognise it, but he remembered that he had turned round and made him some answer....
So this was the solution of yesterday's horror.
The most awful thought was that he had been actually almost lost, had almost done for himself on account of such a _trivial_ circumstance.
So this man could tell nothing except his asking about the flat and the blood stains.
So Porfiry, too, had nothing but that _delirium_, no facts but this _psychology_ which _cuts both ways_, nothing positive.
So if no more facts come to light (and they must not, they must not!) then... then what can they do to him?
How can they convict him, even if they arrest him?
And Porfiry then had only just heard about the flat and had not known about it before.
"Was it you who told Porfiry... that I'd been there?" he cried, struck by a sudden idea.
"What Porfiry?"
"The head of the detective department?"
"Yes.
The porters did not go there, but I went."
"To-day?"
"I got there two minutes before you.
And I heard, I heard it all, how he worried you."
"Where?
What?
When?"
"Why, in the next room. I was sitting there all the time."
"What?
Why, then you were the surprise?
But how could it happen?
Upon my word!"
"I saw that the porters did not want to do what I said," began the man; "for it's too late, said they, and maybe he'll be angry that we did not come at the time. I was vexed and I lost my sleep, and I began making inquiries.
And finding out yesterday where to go, I went to-day.
The first time I went he wasn't there, when I came an hour later he couldn't see me.
I went the third time, and they showed me in.
I informed him of everything, just as it happened, and he began skipping about the room and punching himself on the chest.