The stalemate has ended.
Thinking quickly I surmise he would have to be an utter fool not to see through my actions. He knows I'm on to him, and I know he knows that. There can be little doubt in his mind that my not-so subtle spillage was a calculated defense. So why has he chosen to put himself in a vulnerable position by bending over to pick up the glass?
It can only be that he wants me to attack him. He feels confident that even now he can take me anytime he wants. It's all a game and my head is spinning!
Well if that's the game I can't very well play into his hands. I must attack in a different way, something totally unexpected; I must move the quicksand back under his feet.
He lingers by the floor a little too long before rising - further proof to my theory, if I needed it. He is wearing a different kind of smile now, as if to say, "yeah, you got me, nice move", but also one of supreme arrogance. He is certain that nothing I can do could prevent his ultimate victory.
He slicks back the hair that has fallen over his face, places my empty glass on the table and straightens his jacket, waiting for my play.
"Sorry for the mess, old boy, but there was arsenic in that glass. I wonder if you wouldn't mind telling me why you put it there?" I sound stronger than I feel as this escapes my ever-drying lips.
"Yes, there was! Well done! Well spotted indeed, my friend!" He looks genuinely pleased with this. "But I was wondering if you could tell me why I put it there? I mean, of course, what reason I could possibly have to want to kill you?"
The ease of his admission shocks me out of my feigned nonchalance and I breathe in heavily. Something in his tone suggests that he believes I deserve to die. What does he think I've done? I honestly can't think. Or... Wait!
Oh my God, no!