To this day—what a hideous climax!
Saul detected the fear in Donaldson's eyes,
"You know something about this, Don!" he asked eagerly.
He was no longer a friend; he was scarcely a man; he was a hound who has picked up his trail. His eyes had narrowed; his round face seemed to grow almost pointed. He chewed his cigar end viciously. He was alert in every nerve.
"You'd better loosen up," he warned, "it's all right to protect a friend, but it can't be done in a case of this sort. You as a lawyer ought to know that. It can't be done."
"Yes, I know, I know. But I want to tell you again that you 're dead wrong about this. You haven't guessed right, Beefy."
"That's for others to decide," he returned somewhat sharply. "It 's up to you to tell what you know."
"It's hard to do it—it's hard to do it to you."
Donaldson's face had suddenly grown blank—impassive. The mouth had hardened and his whole body stiffened almost as it does after death. When he spoke it was without emotion and in the voice of one who has repeated a phrase until it no longer has meaning.
"I realize how you feel," Saul encouraged him, "but there's no way out of it."