"No," I answered shortly.
"As you choose," he responded, and then from the waiter, who had meanwhile appeared, ordered brandy.
While he waited for his drink he drummed idly on the table and I leaned on the mantel striving to imitate his imperturbability. My sympathy, my affection for Littell for the time were gone, and it was a hard and unyielding man who faced him waiting for the moment to speak.
When the brandy was brought, Littell swallowed a glass of it and, having done so, himself deliberately closed the door again behind the waiter, so that we should be alone. Then standing with his back to it, he looked at me and I at him. We understood each other.
"What have you to say to me?" he asked.
There were no signs of flinching on his part. I walked over to him.
"That you killed Arthur White," I said.
He took a step towards me and I steadied myself for what might be coming, but he changed his purpose, whatever it was, and turned away with a laugh.
"You are mad," he said.
"I have spoken the truth," I answered sternly, "and you know it."