“I’ve got your number, Elsie Verriner, alias Chaddy Cravath,” he thundered out, bringing his great withered fist down on the table top. “I’ve got every trick you ever turned stowed away in cold storage. I’ve got ’em where they’ll keep until the cows come home. I don’t care whether you’re a secret agent or a Secretary of War. There’s only one thing that counts with me now. And I’m going to win out. I’m going to win out, in the end, no matter what it costs. If you try to block me in this I’ll put you where you belong. I’ll drag you down until you squeal like a cornered rat. I’ll put you so low you’ll never even stand up again!”
The woman leaned a little forward, staring into his eyes.
“I didn’t expect this of you, Jim,” she said. Her voice was tremulous as she spoke, and still again he could see on her face that odious and unfathomable pity.
“There’s lots of things weren’t expected of me. But I’m going to surprise you all. I’m going to get what I’m after or I’m going to put you where I ought to have put you two years ago!”
“Jim,” said the woman, white-lipped but compelling herself to calmness, “don’t go on like this! Don’t! You’re only making it worse, every minute!”
“Making what worse?” demanded Blake.
“The whole thing. It was a mistake, from the first. I could have told you that. But you did then what you’re trying to do now. And see what you’ve lost by it!”
“What have I lost by it?”
“You’ve lost everything,” she answered, and her voice was thin with misery. “Everything—just as they counted on your doing, just as they expected!”
“As who expected?”