When a turn in the course brought the long Wiscasset bridge in sight with the pretty town on the left, Kit Woodford turned his head and looked back at the young man who was guiding the other launch.
“What are you going to do with him?” he asked, with a black scowl.
“Nothing,” replied Hagan.
“Why haven’t you got the bracelets on him?”
“He has done us too valuable service. That isn’t the way we reward our friends.”
Calvert, who had overheard the words, looked round.
“We may need his evidence to land you and Graff in Atlanta.”
The remark was so illuminating that the prisoner said never a word. The occasion was one of those in which language falls short of doing justice to the emotions of the persons chiefly involved. It was Graff Miller who snarled with a smothered rage which it is hard to picture:
“I’ll get even with him if I have to wait ten years.”
“You’ll have to wait all of that and probably longer,” said Calvert, “and by that time I don’t think Orestes Noxon will care much what you try to do.”