The narrator is telling the story, but he can't necessarily be trusted. Why? Because he is described as "mad." His point of view might be that he was not exactly innocent, but he hadn't done anything wrong. He was just protecting himself from "the evil eye." Or he could have thought that he had nothing to worry about; the cops wouldn't find out. He thinks he's so awesome. But then he ruins it by blurting everything out.
On the other hand, if you thought about it from the cop's point of view, he probably would have thought that the narrator was hiding something. In the story he wasn't completely satisfied until he'd had a complete search of the narrator's house. If we had been reading from the cop's point of view, we would have been walked through the whole search of the narrator's house.
This would be the story from his point of view:
I pounded on the door. "Open up!" I yelled. The door swung open to reveal a man who looked very calm. As if he hadn't done anything wrong. But I knew that he had killed someone. So I asked him to give us the complete tour of his chamber. We searched every nook, every cranny, every closet, every possible hiding place. But there was nothing there. Not even blood. "Well, I guess you're clean," I admitted. He beamed, and we all sat down and chatted. Then he started to get a guilty look on his face. After about five minutes of his melt down, he fessed up. "Villains!" He shrieked. "Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here! Here! It is the beating of his villainous heart!" I knew he had been guilty! We handcuffed him and drove off.
On the other hand, if you thought about it from the cop's point of view, he probably would have thought that the narrator was hiding something. In the story he wasn't completely satisfied until he'd had a complete search of the narrator's house. If we had been reading from the cop's point of view, we would have been walked through the whole search of the narrator's house.
This would be the story from his point of view:
I pounded on the door. "Open up!" I yelled. The door swung open to reveal a man who looked very calm. As if he hadn't done anything wrong. But I knew that he had killed someone. So I asked him to give us the complete tour of his chamber. We searched every nook, every cranny, every closet, every possible hiding place. But there was nothing there. Not even blood. "Well, I guess you're clean," I admitted. He beamed, and we all sat down and chatted. Then he started to get a guilty look on his face. After about five minutes of his melt down, he fessed up. "Villains!" He shrieked. "Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here! Here! It is the beating of his villainous heart!" I knew he had been guilty! We handcuffed him and drove off.
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