“I guess you know why I’m here?” hazarded Caleb, looking across at the well-groomed figure, without the faintest trace of emotion.
“To crow over your dirty, underhand victory of to-day?” blazed the other. “If so you can save yourself the trouble. Leave my room at once. I don’t wish it polluted or—”
“It’ll have to stand a little more polootion before I’m ready to go,” answered Conover, unmoved. “No, I haven’t come to crow. Crowin’ ain’t in my line. A little while ago I set a man to tracin’ a tel’gram I got this mornin’. It seems you wrote it an’ paid the hotel tel’graph clerk $10 to slip it to me at the right time. Don’t lie. I’ve got proof.”
“I’m not given to lying,” retorted Blacarda. “And if I were, I shouldn’t take the trouble to lie to a blackleg like you. Yes, I wrote the telegram. What of it?”
“You’re a sweet-scented sort of a cuss to preach about ‘dirty, underhand vict’ries,’ ain’t you?” said Caleb, thoughtfully. “After tryin’ to get me out of the way like that.”
“Any weapon is justifiable against a scoundrel,” sneered Blacarda. “One must fight fire with fire.”
“Quite so,” assented Caleb. “Though not as original as I’d ’a expected from a clever chap like you. Fightin’ fire with fire is good finance. So when you tipped an engineer $600 to get me delayed in comin’ here, I made no kick. That was fair game. I’d a’ done the same thing myself. Only I wouldn’t a’ bungled it like you did. When you’re goin’ to do a crooked thing do it well. Don’t foozle it an’ lose your fight....”
“I haven’t your experience in hold-up tactics,” answered Blacarda, “so perhaps I—”
Caleb waved aside the interpolation and went on in the same heavy, emotionless voice.
“That was all fair, like I said. But it failed. Then, what’d you do? Dragged a woman’s name into the row. Faked a dispatch tellin’ me she was dyin’ an’ callin’ for me. That’s a trick I wouldn’t play if my life was hangin’ on a deal. You used that little girl’s name to get me away. You put up that filthy job,—an’ took another man into your conf’dence. Told a measly, tattlin’ tel’graph clerk about her. I ain’t any good at expressin’ myself. But say! I wish I could get it through that shiny head of yours what a rotten, low down, crawly cur you are! No, don’t put on no heroics! I’m doin’ the talkin’ now. In the fake tel’gram, you used the nickname you’ve heard her called. You used the knowledge that I’d hustle from here to hell if I could be of use to her. You used all that as means to get me away from your p’litical dogfight to-day. An’ how did you get your knowledge of her nickname an’ ’bout my carin’ for her as if she was my own kid? Hey? You got it while you was callin’ on her. While you was takin’ her hosp’tality. You used that kind of trick in politics! God! I didn’t think there was a breathin’ man could do such a thing. No ward-heeler could do it—it had to be done by a ‘gentleman.’ One of the Arareek Governors.”