“You admit that?”
Furley drew himself stiffly up in his chair. His mass of brown hair seemed more unkempt than usual, his hard face sterner than ever by reason of its disfiguring frown.
“What the hell do you mean, Julian?”
“I mean,” Julian replied, “that I have reason to suspect you, Furley, of holding or attempting to hold secret communication with an enemy country.”
The pipestem which he was holding snapped in Furley’s fingers. His eyes were filled with fury.
“Damn you, Julian!” he exclaimed. “If I could stand on two legs, I’d break your head. How dare you come here and talk such rubbish.”
“Isn’t there some truth in what I have just said?” Julian asked sternly.
“Not a word.”
Julian was silent for a moment. Furley was sitting upright upon the sofa, his keen eyes aglint with anger.
“I am waiting for an explanation, Julian,” he announced.