"Seems to me," West said drily, "that you would have wanted to keep a man like that here. You certainly could have used him."
"Nevin again," Belden told him. "Darling wouldn't go along with the program that Nevin planned. Even threatened to expose him if he ever had the chance. Nevin wanted to kill him, but Cartwright thought up a joke ... he's jovial, Cartwright is."
"I've noticed that," said West.
"Cartwright thought up the exile business," Belden said. "Offered Darling any one thing he wished to take along. One thing, you understand. Just one thing. That's where the joke came in. Cartwright expected Darling to go through agonies trying to make up his mind. But there wasn't a moment's hesitation. Darling took the whisky."
"He drank himself to death," said West.
"Darling wasn't a drinking man," Belden told him, sharply.
"It was suicide," said West. "Darling took you fellows down the line, neatly, all the way. He was away ahead of you."
A soft sound like the brushing of a bird's wing swung West around.
Rosie was coming through the door, her wings half-raised, exposing the hideousness of the furry, splotched body beneath the furry, death's-head face.
"No!" screamed Belden. "No! I wasn't going to do anything. I wasn't—"