Sidwell sat down, and Hough followed his lead.
"All right, all right! Have a cigar, then. At least you smoke?"
"Yes," assented Blair, "I smoke—sometimes."
The host extended the box hospitably. "Help yourself. They're good ones, I'll answer for that. I import them myself."
Ben took a step forward, but his hands were still in his pockets. "Mr. Sidwell," he said, "we may as well save time and try to understand each other. In some ways I am a bit like an Indian. I never smoke except with a friend, and I am not sure you are a friend of mine. To be candid with you, I believe you are not."
Hough stirred in his chair, but Sidwell remained impassive save that the convivial smile vanished.
A quarter of a minute passed. Once the host took up his glass as if to drink, but put it down untasted. At last he indicated the vacant chair.
"Won't you be seated?" he invited.
Ben sat down.
"You say," continued Sidwell, "that I am not your friend. The statement and your actions carry the implication that of necessity, then, we must be enemies."