“You know now. It’s just the infernal woman in you that wants to toy with a man. I’m no man to be toyed with—past a safe point. I’d have been contented to play your game a little longer if it hadn’t been for old Frame’s meddling.”
“Judge Frame? What meddling?”
Moran shrugged his shoulders angrily.
“Don’t talk as if you thought I was an imbecile. What meddling? Don’t you suppose I knew why old Frame sent that man Ashe here?” At mention of Jim’s name Marie winced.
“Why did Judge Frame—”
“To marry you,” said Moran, his tone brutal as a blow. “And you knew it. You’ve been playing Ashe against me—to see which of us you could get the most from. You’ve landed Ashe high and dry—anybody can see that. It’s my business to see Ashe doesn’t land you.”
Jealousy showed there. Marie flinched as though Moran touched an exposed nerve.
“I hate him! I hate him!” she cried.
“Hate him or love him, it don’t matter. He sha’n’t have you. I’ve fixed that. After to-night—to-morrow—you won’t want him if you want him now. Maybe you hate him. I’m not fool enough to believe it because you say so. It don’t matter. I don’t care who you love or hate, so long as I have you. I’d have smashed him, anyhow. That was business. But he’s shoved in between you and me, and I’ll smash him and stamp on him. It’s as good as done. And Frame—he’ll be disposed of to-morrow.” His voice was rising, becoming shrill as he fanned his passion.
Marie felt the stirring of some emotion within her. It was apprehension, fear. Even in that moment she could scrutinize it as something outside herself, wonder at it. Why was she apprehensive? She was not afraid for herself. For whom was she afraid? She must be afraid for Jim Ashe, for he was the threatened man. It was unbelievable. She told herself she did not, could not, care what befell Jim Ashe. She hated him, despised him.