With Madden at his side and with a grim smile on his lips Weir walked slowly towards Vorse. In his tread there was something of the quality of a tiger’s, the light, deliberate, poised advance, the easy and dangerous movement 274 of body, the effortless glide of a powerful animal ready to spring and strike. His hands swung idly at his sides, but that did not mean they would not be swift once they responded to the call of the brain that controlled them.
“You gentlemen were just about to celebrate my downfall, I perceive, by pouring a libation,” Weir said. “Don’t let me interrupt. Only I must request you to conduct the proceedings there where you’re standing, Vorse, instead of at the rear of the room: Madden and I wish a good view of the ceremony. If Mr. Sorenson will be so agreeable as to step forward, you may go ahead.”
Sorenson did not join Vorse, but instead he spoke.
“Why haven’t you locked up your prisoner, Madden?” he demanded harshly. “And you’re letting him keep his gun. Don’t you know enough to disarm a murderer and throw him into jail when you arrest him?”
“I haven’t arrested him yet,” was the sheriff’s answer.
“Well, do it then. You have the warrant for the scoundrel. Perhaps you haven’t heard he almost killed my boy Ed last night––and you’re allowing him to walk around with you as if he were a bosom friend. Do your duty, or we’ll get a sheriff who will.”
“That’s why I’m here, to do my duty.”
“You didn’t have to bring this man here to do it.”
“I decided to bring him, however.”
From Vorse had come not a word. Only his gleaming evil eyes continued to rest on the two men without wink or change. For him explanations were unnecessary; he had divined instantly that somewhere, somehow the plotters’ plans had gone awry.