Peter obeyed, flattered by his employer's manner and curious as to the imminent revelations.
"I may say that—this—this 'Hawk' is a—an enemy of mine, Nichols—a bitter enemy—unscrupulous—a man better dead than alive. I—I wish to God you'd shot him last night."
"Sorry, sir," said Peter cheerfully.
"I—I've got to do what he wants—this time. I can't have this sort of thing goin' on—with everybody in Black Rock reading these damn things. You're sure my daughter Peggy knows nothing?"
"I'd be pretty sure of that——"
"But she might—any time—if he puts up more placards. I've got to stop that, Nichols. This thing mustn't go any further."
"I think you may trust me."
"Yes. I think I can. I've got to trust you now, whether I want to or no. The man who wrote this scrawl is the man I came down here to get away from." Peter waited while McGuire paused. "You may think it's very strange. It is strange. I knew this man—called 'Hawk,' many years ago. I—I thought he was dead, but he's come back."
McGuire paused again, the placard in his hands, reading the line which so clearly announced that fact.
"He speaks of something I've got—something he's got, Nichols. It's a paper—a—er—a partnership paper we drew up years ago—out West and signed. That paper is of great value to me. As long as he holds it I——," McGuire halted to wipe the sweat from his pallid brow. "He holds it as a—well—not exactly as a threat—but as a kind of menace to my happiness and Peggy's."