“When I was going from Fenya’s to Perhotin’s, on the way I tore it off my neck and took out the money.”
“In the dark?”
“What should I want a light for? I did it with my fingers in one minute.”
“Without scissors, in the street?”
“In the market‐place I think it was. Why scissors? It was an old rag. It was torn in a minute.”
“Where did you put it afterwards?”
“I dropped it there.”
“Where was it, exactly?”
“In the market‐place, in the market‐place! The devil knows whereabouts. What do you want to know for?”
“That’s extremely important, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. It would be material evidence in your favor. How is it you don’t understand that? Who helped you to sew it up a month ago?”