"You—you're joking." There was a crack in Pell's voice.
"Joking?"
"You must be!" huskily. "I thought so all along—now I'm sure of it."
The bandit faced him, and threw his cigarette over his shoulder in the chimney-place. "Do I look like a joker?"
"You sit there, like that, and talk of killing me in cold blood?"
Lopez took him in through half-closed lids. "I do not like you. Nobody like you. Alive, you are no good. Dead, you make two people which I love 'appy. You get me, Señor Wall Street?"
"Oh, I see," cried Pell, wildly, and doing his best to keep his legs from giving way, "you would kill me so that my wife can marry this Gilbert Jones?" A sickly smile curled around his mouth.
Lopez nodded. "Si, señor."
"If that's all, I'll give her a divorce!"
"You weel give her a divorce?" Lopez repeated, pretending to be much interested and pleased.