Simon laughed softly. "You'd better let me in. I've brought word of the child you took to raise. You know who I mean."
Yes, Linda knew. "Do you mean Bruce?" she asked. "I let Dave in to-night on the same pretext. Don't expect me to be caught twice by the same lie."
"Dave? Where is Dave?" The fact was that the whereabouts of his brother had suddenly become considerable of a mystery to Simon. All the way from the pasture where he had left his clan he had been having black pictures of Dave. He had thought about him and Linda out in the darkness together, and his heart had seemed to smolder and burn with jealousy in his breast. It had been a great relief to him to find her in the house.
"I wonder—where he is by now," Linda answered in a strange voice. "No one in this world can answer that question, Simon. Tell me what you want."
She opened the door. She couldn't bear to show fear of this man. And she knew that an appearance of courage, at least, was the wisest course.
"No matter about him now. I want to talk to you on business. If I had meant rough measures, I wouldn't have come alone."
"No," Linda scorned. "You would have brought your whole murdering band with you. The Turners believe in overwhelming numbers."
The words stung him but he smiled grimly into her face. "I've come in peace, Linda," he said, more gently. "I've come to give you a last chance to make friends."
He walked past her into the room. He straightened the chair that had been upset, smiling strangely the while, and sat down in it.
"Then tell me what you have to tell me," she said. "I'm in a hurry to go to bed—and this really isn't the hour for calls."