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The Second Ordeal
You don't know how you encourage us, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, by your readiness to answer," said Nikolay Parfenovitch, with an animated air, and obvious satisfaction beaming in his very prominent, short-sighted, light grey eyes, from which he had removed his spectacles a moment before. "And you have made a very just remark about the mutual confidence, without which it is sometimes positively impossible to get on in cases of such importance, if the suspected party really hopes and desires to defend himself and is in a position to do so. We on our side, will do everything in our power, and you can see for yourself how we are conducting the case. You approve, Ippolit Kirillovitch?" He turned to the prosecutor.
"Oh, undoubtedly," replied the prosecutor. His tone was somewhat
cold, compared with Nikolay Parfenovitch's impulsiveness.
I will note once for all that Nikolay Parfenovitch, who had but
lately arrived among us, had from the first felt marked respect for
Ippolit Kirillovitch, our prosecutor, and had become almost his
bosom friend. He was almost the only person who put implicit faith
in Ippolit Kirillovitch's extraordinary talents as a psychologist
and orator and in the justice of his grievance. He had heard of him in
Petersburg. On the other hand, young Nikolay Parfenovitch was the only
person in the whole world whom our "unappreciated" prosecutor
genuinely liked. On their way to Mokroe they had time to come to an
understanding about the present case. And now as they sat at the
table, the sharp-witted junior caught and interpreted every indication
on his senior colleague's face- half a word, a glance, or a wink.
"Gentlemen, only let me tell my own story and don't interrupt me
with trivial questions and I'll tell you everything in a moment," said
Mitya excitedly.
"Excellent! Thank you. But before we proceed to listen to your
communication, will you allow me to inquire as to another little
fact of great interest to us? I mean the ten roubles you borrowed
yesterday at about five o'clock on the security of your pistols, from your friend, Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin."
"I pledged them, gentlemen. I pledged them for ten roubles. What
more? That's all about it. As soon as I got back to town I pledged
them."
"You got back to town? Then you had been out of town?"
"Yes, I went a journey of forty versts into the country. Didn't
you know?"
The prosecutor and Nikolay Parfenovitch exchanged glances.
"Well, how would it be if you began your story with a systematic
description of all you did yesterday, from the morning onwards? Allow us, for instance, to inquire why you were absent from the town, and just when you left and when you came back- all those facts."
"You should have asked me like that from the beginning," cried
Mitya, laughing aloud, "and, if you like, we won't begin from
yesterday, but from the morning of the day before; then you'll
understand how, why, and where I went. I went the day before
yesterday, gentlemen, to a merchant of the town, called Samsonov, to
borrow three thousand roubles from him on safe security. It was a
pressing matter, gentlemen, it was a sudden necessity."
"Allow me to interrupt you," the prosecutor put in politely. "Why were you in such pressing need for just that sum, three thousand?"
"Oh, gentlemen, you needn't go into details, how, when and why, and why just so much money, and not so much, and all that rigmarole. Why, it'll run to three volumes, and then you'll want an epilogue!" Mitya said all this with the good-natured but impatient familiarity of a man who is anxious to tell the whole truth and is full of the best intentions.