“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 recognize 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!”