These words, with their calm and their courtesy, amazed Niels Heinrich to the utmost. He had been prepared for tempestuous anger, a proud and irate repulse, for the customary counter-threat that veiled attempts at blackmail are wont to receive, for consternation, possibly for fear. But he was not prepared for this courtesy. It was so fundamentally different from anything that he had met with among men, that his eyes stared in stupid astonishment for a while, as though they saw an irresponsible moron whose behaviour was half absurd and half suspicious. He grasped the chair and sat down on it--half-crouching, ready for an attack or any mischief. “The gentleman talks like a lawyer,” he jeered. “You could make a success at the bar. What do you want to ask me anyhow? Fire away! Don’t you have no fear. And seeing as how you talk so educated, I can polish my rough snout too. I ain’t without education myself. I don’t have to take nothing from no one. I even had a spell at a gymnasium once. The widow had ambitions in her day.” Suddenly his mockery sounded pained and forced. He bit on the iron of his chain. “You mentioned Joachim Heinzen a moment ago,” Christian said. “You called him a bloodhound. Is that your real opinion of him? You and he were very constant companions, and you must have a fairly accurate knowledge of his character. Do you really think he was capable of having committed the murder? Please consider your answer carefully for a moment; a great deal depends on it. Why do you look at me like that? What is it?” Involuntarily Christian arose, for the look that Niels Heinrich fixed on him was literally frightful. Niels Heinrich arose at the same moment and almost shrieked. Why ask him such fool questions? What in hell did he mean by ’em? A cardboard box lay on the table; he picked it up and hurled it down on the floor. Becoming aware of the imprudence of his outburst and regretting it, he laughed his goat-like laugh. Then stealthily, with colourless, furtive eyes he went on. Why shouldn’t Heinzen be capable of the crime? He said he’d done it and he ought to know. How did the gentleman come to stick his nose into such affairs? Maybe he was a police spy or something? He tried to steady his lightless, furtive eyes in vain. But the slack muscles of his face began to grow taut again as he continued: “I know the feller. Sure, I know him. But you never know what any one is capable of till he does it. I didn’t have no notion that he carried about a plan like that. The devil must’ve gotten into him; he must’ve swallowed poison. But I told him often enough: ‘You ain’t going to come to no good end.’” He stuck his fists in his trousers pockets, took a few steps, and leaned boastfully against the oven.