Starling struck the table a blow with his fist which set the glasses jingling.
"D—n it, stop, Sabatini!" he exclaimed. "Do you want to—"
He broke off abruptly. He looked towards Arnold. He was breathing heavily. His sudden fit of passion had brought an unwholesome flush of color to his cheeks.
"Why should I stop?" Sabatini proceeded, mercilessly. "Let me remind you of my sister's presence. Your lack of self-control is inexcusable. One would imagine that you had committed some evil deed, that you were indeed an offender against the law."
Again there was that tense silence. Starling looked around him with the helpless air of a trapped animal. Arnold sat there, listening and watching, completely fascinated. There was something which made him shiver about the imperturbability, not only of Sabatini himself, but of the woman who sat by his side.
Sabatini poured himself out a glass of wine deliberately.
"Who in the world," he demanded, "save a few unwholesome sentimentalists, would consider the killing of Rosario a crime?"
Starling staggered to his feet. His cheeks now were ashen.
"You are mad!" he cried, pointing to Arnold.
"Not in the least," Sabatini proceeded calmly. "I am not accusing you of having killed Rosario. In any case, it would have been a perfectly reasonable and even commendable deed. One can scarcely understand your agitation. If you are really accused of having been concerned in that little contretemps, why, here is our friend Mr. Arnold Chetwode, who was present. No doubt he will be able to give evidence in your favor."