“You'll talk!” said John Bruce with ominous quiet.
“And the less urging”—his grip began to tighten again—“the better for you.”
“Wait!” Crang choked. “Yes—I—I'll tell you. I showed the letter to Claire. She—she cried on it. A tear splash—black letter began to appear. I took the letter home, and—trace of salt in tears—and——”
Crang's voice died away in a strangling cry. Claire! John Bruce had barely caught any other word but that. Claire! The face beneath him began to grow livid. Claire! So the devil had brought Claire into this, too. Too! Yes, there was something else. Something else! He remembered now. There was a reckoning to come that was beyond all other reckonings, wasn't there? He would know now what hold this thing, that was beast, not man, had upon her. He would know now—or it would end now!
“Claire! D'ye hear?” John Bruce whispered hoarsely. “You know what I mean! What trick of hell did you play to make her promise to marry you? Answer me!”
The thing on the mattress moaned.
“Bruce! For God's sake, Bruce, what are you doing?” Larmon cried out sharply.
John Bruce raised his head and snarled at Larmon. Neither Larmon, nor any other man, would rob him of this now!
“You stand aside, Larmon!” he rasped out. “This is between me and Crang. Keep out of the way!”
He shook at Crang again. He laughed. The man's head bobbed limply.