“Be sure,” said Minetti to the waiter, “that we have plenty of anisette and cognac in the coffee.”
The man flicked a towel rather contemptuously and made no answer.
“Now,” Minetti continued, turning a mocking face toward Fernet, “what can I do for you, my friend?”
Fernet was filled with confusion. “I ... you ...” he stammered. “Really, there is nothing. Believe me—”
“Nonsense,” interrupted Minetti. “You wish to know who killed Suvaroff. But I warn you, my friend, it is a dreadful thing to share such a secret.”
He looked at Fernet intently. The younger man shuddered. “Nevertheless, I should like to know,” Fernet said, distinctly.
“Well, then, since you are so determined—it was I who killed him.”
Fernet stared, looked again at the hunchback’s puny wrists, and began to laugh. “You! Do you take me for a fool?” And as he said this he threw back his head and laughed until even the billiard-players stopped their game and looked around at him.
“What are you laughing at?” asked the hunchback, narrowing his eyes.
Fernet stopped. He felt a sudden chill as if some one had opened a door. “I am laughing at you,” he answered.