"Swift," he said, scarcely above a whisper, "I 'm a peaceable man; nevertheless I resent your aspersions. I can't do it openly in the circumstances; this murder ties my hands; but—damn you!" he suddenly spat at me, "if my silence would hang Royal Maillot, I 'd bite my tongue out before I 'd ever utter another word. There you have it."
I stared at him in astonishment. Was it possible that this cold-blooded creature could harbor an emotion as fiery as hatred?
"What have you against Maillot?" I sternly asked, after a pause.
His bloodless upper lip, thin and flexible, curled in a smile; there was a momentary flash of his teeth.
"You 're a detective," he said; "find out."
I pondered, still regarding him.
"So," said I at last, "it's to be warfare between you and me, is it? Very well. Take care, Burke, for I do mean to find out. And I promise you that when I do you 'll get all you have coming to you."
He knew that I was more or less at sea; he had divined that in my own mind I had already cleared him of the actual murder.
"Thank you," he now had the impudence to say suavely. "Forewarned is forearmed, you know."
"You get out of here, Burke," I said, without heat, eying him steadily.