But he did not feel the spur. “I have told you I do not desire your acquaintance at all,” he said warmly, adding with a sneer: “Are you Englishmen accustomed to force yourselves upon one in the way you are doing now?”
I let even this go in silence, and he crossed and threw the door open. “Now, sir,” he said, in barrack-yard style.
I rose then. “I think you had better not insist on my going at present.”
“I don’t care what you think. Go. That’s all I mean.”
“You are deeply involved in a certain conspiracy, Major Sampayo. I have absolute knowledge that concerns you closely.”
“Oh, this is blackmail, eh?” he cried. “You want to force me to help you by threatening me. Well, I refuse point-blank. Give what information you like. You are a spy.”
I gave him a steady look and answered very deliberately. “You mistake me. I did not give the information which led to that raid in the Rua Catania, but—I know who did.”
I got right home with that thrust, and as he glared at me, that old perplexed, speculative fear of me came creeping back into his eyes. He tried to fight it back by encouraging his rage. “Are you going to force me to kick you out, you spy?” he cried fiercely.
“A spy is an object of contempt, quite kickable, of course; but Dr. Barosa would probably regard a traitor as infinitely more despicable.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, even more angrily, but also with more fear.