"Anyway, Ricky Fleet took that gal to the prison, to see a 'ghost-hunt', at goin' on for one in the morning. He butchered her with all the hate in him. He left the body under the gallows-trap, as a rare sight for somebody if the trap was opened. Masters has told you that story, including the reversed alibi. Finally, Fleet slipped out again without a whisper to catch Masters's ear.
"I don't think, though, he slept very well the rest of the night And then you two," H.M.'s finger indicated Martin and Jenny, "had to go yellin' under the windows at going on for five in the morning, and give him his heaven-gilded opportunity to shove Drake off the roof." "But why didn't you warn me?"
H.M. drew himself together. He stuck out towards Martin a face of such utter loathing, such indescribable contempt, that the other felt his scalp stir with hostility.
"Look here, you something-something'd thus-and-so," he said. "There's a feller here in London," he mentioned a famous painter, "you think is a friend of yours. I bein' the old man, happen to know he hates your guts."
"That," Martin said quietly, but with buzzing ears, "is a very bloody lie."
"Darling!" cried Jenny.
"You think so, hey?" inquired H.M., with a contempt which was one vast sneer. "He was in Spain with another feller he hated, and he shot that feller in the back without givin' him a chance. What, do you say to that, you credulous so-and-so this-and-that”
"I say," returned Martin, sticking out his own neck, "that I will prove you a thus-and-so this-and-that liar. I will take him to any lonely place you name, with a loaded revolver in my pocket I will hand him the revolver, and—" Even with badly buzzing head, Martin stopped short
"Y’see what I mean?" inquired H.M., with a sort of malignant apology.
"I deny that! I. ’