“But your daughter, Mr. Coburn,” Merriman persisted. “For her sake something must be done.”
Mr. Coburn shook his clenched fists in the air.
“Damnation take you!” he cried, with a sudden access of rage, “do you think I care about myself? Do you think I’d sit here and listen to you talking as you’ve done if it wasn’t for her? I tell you I’d shoot you as you sit, if I didn’t know from my own observation that she is fond of you. I swear it’s the only thing that has saved you.” He rose to his feet and began pacing jerkily to and fro. “See here,” he continued wildly, “go away from here before I do it. I can’t stand any more of you at present. Go now and come back on Friday night at the same time, and I’ll tell you of my decision. Here’s the key,” he threw it down on the desk. “Get out quick before I do for you!”
Merriman was for a moment inclined to stand his ground, but, realizing that not only had he carried his point as far as he could have expected, but also that his companion was in so excited a condition as hardly to be accountable for his actions, he decided discretion was the better part, and merely saying: “Very well, Friday night,” he unlocked the door and took his leave.
On the whole he was well pleased with his interview. In the first place, he had by his readiness escaped an imminent personal danger. What was almost as important, he had broken the ice with Mr. Coburn about Madeleine, and the former had not only declared that he was aware of the state of his daughter’s feelings, but he had expressed no objection to the proposed match. Further, an understanding as to Mr. Coburn’s own position had been come to. He had practically admitted that the syndicate was a felonious conspiracy, and had stated that he would do almost anything to get out of it. Finally he had promised a decision on the whole question in three days’ time. Quite a triumph, Merriman thought.
On the other hand he had given the manager a warning of the danger which the latter might communicate to his fellow-conspirators, with the result that all of them might escape from the net in which Hilliard, at any rate, wished to enmesh them. And just to this extent he had become a co-partner in their crime. And though it was true that he had escaped from his immediate peril, he had undoubtedly placed himself and Hilliard in very real danger. It was by no means impossible that the gang would decide to murder both of the men whose knowledge threatened them, in the hope of bluffing the bank manager out of the letter which they would believe he held. Merriman had invented this letter on the spur of the moment and he would have felt a good deal happier if he knew that it really existed. He decided that he would write to Hilliard immediately and get him to make it a reality.
A great deal, he thought, depended on the character of Coburn. If he was weak and cowardly he would try to save his own skin and let the others walk into the net. Particularly might he do this if he had suffered at their hands in the way he suggested. On the other hand, a strong man would undoubtedly consult his fellow-conspirators and see that a pretty determined fight was made for their liberty and their source of gain.
He had thought of all this when it suddenly flashed into his mind that Mr. Coburn’s presence in the shed at two in the morning in itself required a lot of explanation. He did not for a moment believe the aspirin story. The man had looked so shifty while he was speaking, that even at the time Merriman had decided he was lying. What then could he have been doing?
He puzzled over the questions but without result. Then it occurred to him that as he was doing nothing that evening he might as well ride out again to the clearing and see if any nocturnal activities were undertaken.
Midnight therefore found him once more ensconced behind a group of shrubs in full view of both the house and the shed. It was again a perfect night, and again he lay dreaming of the girl who was so near in body and in spirit, and yet so infinitely far beyond his reach.