"Monsieur would prefer to smoke perhaps," said Emile insinuatingly. "The cigarette has a wonderfully soothing effect on the nerves when they are shaken."
"Damn you, say what you have to say," snarled Pierre, "and get out of this."
"I would remind monsieur that politeness is not only a great virtue, but on occasions like this it is also the best policy."
"What do you mean by occasions like this? Explain yourself, I do not understand."
"Monsieur will do better not to adopt that tone with me. I am here as his friend if——"
"If what?"
"If it will please monsieur to pay me——"
"Pay you for what?"
"For my devotion to the interests of monsieur in coming to him first with my news instead of going to the prefecture and telling the police that monsieur has murdered Professor Delapine."
"What! Do you insinuate that I murdered the professor? How dare you, scoundrel!" he cried, jumping up from his chair white with passion and fear, while his face gradually became ashy pale, and a cold sweat broke over him. Reaching forward he poured out a full measure of brandy with a trembling hand, and swallowed it down at a gulp. "What are you staring at, you idiot?" he said, trembling all over. "Have you nothing else to tell me? Well then get out, I have no further use for you; and mind, if you breathe a word to a living soul about this, by God, I will kill you like a dog. What are you doing standing still like a born fool that you are? Get out, I say, do you hear me?" he cried as Emile hesitated to depart.