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‘It means nothing. I talked rot, and everyone began re-
peating it.’
‘But what need had you to ‘talk rot,’ as you call it?’
‘The devil knows. From bravado perhaps... at having
wasted so much money.... To try and forget that money I
had sewn up, perhaps... yes, that was why... damn it... how
often will you ask me that question? Well, I told a fib, and
that was the end of it; once I’d said it, I didn’t care to correct
it. What does a man tell lies for sometimes?’
‘That’s very difficult to decide, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, what
makes a man tell lies,’ observed the prosecutor impressively.
‘Tell me, though, was that ‘amulet,’ as you call it, on your
neck, a big thing?’
‘No, not big.’
‘How big, for instance?’
‘If you fold a hundred-rouble note in half, that would be
the size.’
‘You’d better show us the remains of it. You must have
them somewhere.’
‘Damnation, what nonsense! I don’t know where they
are.’
‘But excuse me: where and when did you take it off
your neck? According to your own evidence you didn’t go
home.’
‘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