"Answer me, or I'll—"
His face is purple with rage. With clenched fist he leaps from his seat; but, suddenly controlling himself, he says, with a reassuring smile:
"Now be sensible, Mr. Berkman. You seem to be an intelligent man. Why don't you talk sensibly?"
"What do you want to know?"
"Who went with you to Mr. Frick's office?"
Impatient of the comedy, I rise with the words:
"I came to Pittsburgh alone. I stopped at the Merchants' Hotel, opposite the B. and O. depot. I signed the name Rakhmetov in the register there. It's a fictitious name. My real name is Alexander Berkman. I went to Frick's office alone. I had no helpers. That's all I have to tell you."
"Very good, very good. Take your seat, Mr. Berkman. We're not in any hurry. Take your seat. You may as well stay here as in the cell; it's pleasanter. But I am going to have another cell fixed up for you. Just tell me, where do you stay in New York?"
"I have told you all there is to tell."
"Now, don't be stubborn. Who are your friends?"