“You are surprised that I know of the incident,” Christian continued. He did not want the other to think that he would try to make him pliant by dealing in mysteries and surprises. “But it’s quite natural that I should. The son of Gisevius is a foreman at Pohl and Pacheke’s. He told me that you worked there for two days and that the accident happened on one of them. He didn’t connect the two acts at all; he simply happened to relate both to me. He had no suspicion; it was clear to no one but myself that you must have done it. I can’t tell you the reason, but I had an unmistakable vision of you fumbling at the machine and loosening the screw. I was forced to think of it constantly and to see it constantly. If I am wrong, you must forgive me.” “Don’t understand....” The words came heavy with fear and in gasps from Niels Heinrich’s lips. “Don’t understand that....” “I had the feeling that the machine seemed to you a living and organized being and therefore an enemy, and aroused in you a desire to murder. Yes, quite clearly and irrefutably, I got the feeling of murder from you. Am I mistaken?” Niels Heinrich uttered no sound. He could not move. Roots seemed to grow from the floor and entwine themselves about the chair on which he sat, to creep about his legs, and hold him in an iron grip. Christian arose. “All that is useless,” he said, taking a deep breath. “What? What is useless?” Niels Heinrich murmured. “What? What then?” The blood in his body grew chill. His arms pressed to his side, his hands joining below, Christian stood there, and whispered: “Speak! Tell me!” What was he to speak of? What was he to tell? The neck of Niels Heinrich was like an emptied tube, slack and quivering. Their eyes met. Words died. The air roared. Suddenly Christian blew out the lamp. The sudden darkness was like the thud of an explosion. “You were right,” he said. “The light would betray us to any passerby. Now we are quite secure, from any outside thing, at all events. What happens here now concerns no one but ourselves. You can do as you choose. You can draw your revolver as you did the other day and fire. I am prepared for that. And since I shall not move from where I sit, you cannot fail to hit me. But perhaps you will wait until you have told me what is to be told and what I must know.” Silence. “You murdered Ruth.” Silence. “It was you who lured her into that house and into that cellar, and killed her there.” Silence. “And you made an accomplice of that poor simpleton, Joachim Heinzen, and by a well-devised plan filled him so full of fear and anguish that he deemed himself alone to be the murderer, and did not venture even to utter your name. How did that come about?” Silence.