“This will do for me,” I answered, slipping the key into an inner pocket and putting my finger on the bell. “You can shoot me if you wish, but at the slightest movement from you I shall ring this bell, and you will find it difficult to get out of the room before the people come—and equally difficult to explain your presence. Now we can talk.”
A dead tense silence followed my words. I sat staring at him, with my finger on the push. His fingers left the revolver and he smiled.
“You are clever, monsieur. But it would not have saved you. You are right, however. We will talk.”
“Say what you have to say,” I answered, keeping my hand on the bell.
“If I spare you, you can save me. And we shall be quits.”
“Go on.”
He took his hand from his revolver and used it to lift the glass which he drained and immediately replenished.
“You remember me then, monsieur?” he asked.
“Yes, perfectly, now. You were with M. Vastic at Brabinsk.”
“When you shot him,” he added significantly.