He looked up with a beautiful candour in his face, and a diabolic bit of mockery in his soul. For Kangaroo’s face had gone like an angry wax mask, with mortification. An angry wax mask of mortification, haughty with a stiff, wooden haughtiness, and two little near-set holes for eyes, behind glass pince-nez. Richard had a moment of pure hate for him, in the silence. For Kangaroo refused to answer.
“What’s the good, men trying to be gods?” said Richard. “You’re a Jew, and you must be Jehovah or nothing. We’re Christians, all little Christs walking without our crucifixes. Jaz is quite right to play us one against the other. Struthers is the anti-christ, preaching love alone. I’m tired, tired. I want to be a man, with the gods beyond me, greater than me. I want the great gods, and my own mere manliness.”
“It’s that treacherous Trewhella,” Kangaroo murmured to himself. Then he seemed to be thinking hard.
And then at last he lifted his head and looked at Somers. And now Somers openly hated him. His face was arrogant, insolent, righteous.
“I am sorry I have made a mistake in you,” he said. “But we had better settle the matter finally here. I think the best thing you can do is to leave Australia. I don’t think you can do me any serious damage with your talk. I would ask you—before I warn you—not to try. That is all. I should prefer now to be alone.”
He had become again hideous, with a long yellowish face and black eyes close together, and a cold, mindless, dangerous hulk to his shoulders. For a moment Somers was afraid of him, as of some great ugly idol that might strike. He felt the intense hatred of the man coming at him in cold waves. He stood up in a kind of horror, in front of the great, close-eyed, horrible thing that was now Kangaroo. Yes, a thing, not a whole man. A great Thing, a horror.
“I am sorry if I have been foolish,” he said, backing away from the Thing. And as he went out of the door he made a quick movement, and his heart melted in horror lest the Thing Kangaroo should suddenly lurch forward and clutch him. If that happened, Kangaroo would have blood on his hands. But Somers kept all his wits about him, and quickly, quietly got his hat and walked to the hall door. It seemed like a dream, as if it were miles to the outer door, as if his heart would burst before he got there, as if he would never be able to undo the fastening of the door.
But he kept all his wits about him, and as by inspiration managed the three separate locks of the strong door. Kangaroo had followed slowly, awfully, behind, like a madman. If he came near enough to touch!
Somers had the door opened, and looked round. The huge figure, the white face with the two eyes close together, like a spider, approaching with awful stillness. If the stillness suddenly broke, and he struck out!
“Good-night!” said Somers, at the blind, horrible-looking face. And he moved quickly down the stairs, though still not apparently in flight, but going in that quick, controlled way that acts as a check on an onlooker.