Sweeting lost his genial smile. His face became hard and spiteful.
“You mustn’t talk like that to me, Mr. Holland. You are in no position to be discourteous. I shan’t hesitate to go to the police if we can’t come to terms. I tell you what I will do. I’ll settle for two hundred dollars. I won’t press you for any monthly payments. I can’t be fairer than that, can I ? Two hundred dollars in cash.”
Ken’s rising temper exploded. He stepped forward and knocked the glass of whisky out of Sweeting’s hand. His grim, furious expression alarmed Sweeting, who had a horror of violence.
“Mr. Holland!” he gasped, cringing back into the chair. “That was quite unnecessary…”
Leo, as if sensing that his master had failed in his purpose, slunk off the couch and trotted, tail between his legs, to the door.
Ken grabbed hold of Sweeting’s coat front and hauled him to his feet.
“You miserable little rat!” he said furiously. “You’re not getting a dime out of me! I’ve had enough of this! I won’t be shoved around any more by you or the police!”
“Mr. Holland!” Sweeting gasped, his eyes popping out of his head. “Don’t let us have any violence. If you feel that way…”
Ken released him, stepped back and hit Sweeting in his right eye with all his weight behind the punch. He felt an enormous satisfaction as his knuckles thudded against Sweeting’s face.
Sweeting gave a squeal of pain, tripped over the rug and fell on his back with a crash that shook the bungalow.