Von Essen gulped, started, opened his mouth soundlessly, and then found stammering speech. “I—don’t—know,” he said.
“You lie!” she said, in a voice brittle, metallic.
He stared at her, uncomprehending, and wagged his head vaguely.
“You lie!” she repeated. “You know what it was—you know it was murder!”
“Murder....” he repeated. “No....”
“He was there,” she said. “If you’ve killed him—”
Von Essen shook himself together, peered at her dazedly, seemed to grasp a sinister knowledge in her words. “Who was where?” he snarled. “What are you talking about?”
“Potter Waite was there,” she said.
“Potter Waite!... What do you know—” He stopped, stared at her as if he had not seen her before, and his face grew livid with something menacing—the expression of a rat driven into a corner. He sprang upon her, caught her by the shoulders, shook her brutally. “What do you know?... What do you know?” he repeated, again and again.
She tore herself free, backed away from him. “I know that you are a traitor and a murderer,” she said. “I know what that explosion was.... Don’t touch me! Don’t dare come near me!”