"I did not."
"In short, you have no alibi?"
The word made Dantin again tremble. He felt the meshes of the net closing around him.
"An alibi! Ah that! Decidedly. Monsieur, you accuse me of assassinating my friend," he violently said.
"I do not accuse; I ask a question." And M. Ginory in a dry tone which gradually became cutting and menacing said: "I question you, but I warn you that the interview has taken a bad turn. You do not answer; you pretend to keep secret I know not what information which concerns us. You are not yet exactly accused. But—but—but—you are going to be"——
The Magistrate waited a moment as if to give the man time to reflect, and he held his pen suspended, after dipping it in the ink, as an auctioneer holds his ivory hammer before bringing it down to close a sale. "I am going to drop the pen," it seemed to say. Dantin, very angry, remained silent. His look of bravado seemed to say: "Do you dare? If you dare, do it!"
"You refuse to speak?" asked Ginory for the last time.
"I refuse."
"You have willed it! Do you persist in giving no explanation; do you entrench yourself behind I know not what scruple or duty to honor; do you keep to your systematic silence? For the last time, do you still persist in this?"
"I have nothing—nothing—nothing to tell you!" Dantin cried in a sort of rage.