“Look at him!” he said at last. “Our dear Massey! Does he look the sort of person I am likely to share confidence with?”
A cold passion seemed suddenly to possess him.
“It’s a coincidence that brought us both together.”
He rose and walked to where Massey sat, and stared down at him. There was something in the look that sent Massey’s hand wandering to his pistol.
“Massey, you dog!” he began, then checked himself with a laugh and walked to the other end of the room. There was a tantalus with a soda siphon, and he poured himself a stiff portion and sent the soda fizzling into the tumbler. He held the glass to the light and looked at the old man. There was a look on the old man’s face that he remembered to have seen before. He drank his whisky and gave utterance to old Reale’s thoughts.
“It’s no good, Reale, you’ve got to settle with Massey, but not the way you’re thinking. We could put him away, but we should have to put ourselves away too.” He paused. “And there’s me,” he added.
“And Connor,” said Massey thickly, “and Connor’s worse than me. I’m reasonable, Reale; I’d take a fair share——”
“You would, would you?”
The old man was grinning again.
“Well, your share’s exactly a million an’ three-quarters in solid cash, an’ a bit over two millions—all in.”