CHAPTER XI
THIN ICE
"I don't think you quite realize, Griffin," Saunders' voice had quite an uneasy tremor in it, as he spoke, "that you are in some danger."
The detective was sitting in Mark's bedroom, and the clock was striking midnight in the hotel office below. They had returned together from the bluff road and had been discussing the tragedy ever since.
"I think I do," Mark answered, "but I don't very much care."
"Then," said Saunders, "you English have some nerves!"
"You forget, Saunders, that I am not quite English. I am half Irish, and the Irish have 'some nerves.' But I am really hit very hard. I suppose it's the English in me that won't let me show it."
Saunders did not answer for a moment. Then he took his cigar out of his mouth.
"Nerves?" he repeated half laughingly. "Yes, nerves they have, but in the singular number."
"Beg pardon?"