"Go!" I repeated, staring at him as intently as before.
He stood another minute scowling at me from under his ragged red brows and then seemed to concentrate the fury of a hundred curses into one tremendous oath, which he snarled out with baffled rage, as he tore the paper into pieces and threw them down on the table.
"You know I can't go to the police, damn you," he cried.
I had beaten him. I had convinced him of my earnestness. I shut the door then and sitting down again, said calmly:—
"Now you understand me a little better than ever before; and we will have the last conversation that will ever pass between us. Tell me plainly and clearly what you want. Quick."
"Justice for my daughter."
"What else?"
"The money you've always promised me for my services," with a pause before the last word.
"What services?"
"You know."