The question stung the other as a leather lash stings quivering flesh.
"What did he say to you?" repeated the lawyer, and the wretched man on the rack answered hopelessly: "He told me that if I didn't give the will up to Stanhope he would have me arrested and sent to the pen."
A little smile curled the corners of Maddoc's stern mouth. "Well, that's Pennsylvania Scroggie," he said, as though to himself. "Hard, bull-headed and a sharper in every legitimate sense but square as they make 'em. And you," he asked, pointedly, "what did you do?"
"Of course I had to own up that I had lied. He had me down on my knees all right, but I was valuable to him right then. We had started boring on his land. He said that he would give me another chance but that I would have to keep honest."
The man who had the reputation of being able to read criminals unerringly glanced keenly at the man's face.
"And you've found the condition too difficult; isn't that so?" he asked.
"No, Mr. Maddoc, as God is my witness, I was keeping honest and intended to go on." Jacobs had drawn his drooping form erect, and now spoke with a certain dignity.
Maddoc was silent for a moment. Then his square chin shot forward.
"Jacobs," he said, crisply, "I'll give you twenty-four hours in which to lose yourself. You can't stay here."
Something like a sigh escaped the man who listened to this edict. He took a lagging step or two forward.