“You heard my words, sir! I need not repeat them. The prison is the only place for such as you, where the power of doing mischief is beyond you. Brettison, go down and fetch a policeman—two—at once.”
“Let him stir, and I’ll send a bullet through his skull,” cried the man fiercely, as his hand was thrust behind him beneath his coat.
“Go at once, Brettison, I’ll take care he does not harm you.”
“Don’t listen to him, you, sir,” cried the scoundrel. “I warn you; you stir from that chair and you’re a dead man!”
“My dear Stratton,” said Brettison, rising from his sea.
“Go at once! Never mind his threats,” said Stratton fiercely.
“All right, I’ve warned you,” said the man, drawing back his lips from his teeth like some wild animal about to bite, and, stepping quickly to the door, he stood near it with his hand behind him still, as if about to draw a revolver from his hip pocket.
Brettison did not stir.
“He has a pistol there,” he whispered.
“Of course. Suppose I was coming on a job like this, to make my gentleman there disgorge, and not have a mate to back me? Now, then, both of you; it’s of no use to get into a passion. You threaten police. I checkmate you with the little tool I have here—my reserve force. There, you had better take it quietly, Stratton. What are a few hundreds to you? I give up the girl and her fortune; what more do you want? As for myself, I only wish for enough to live comfortably and in peace without troubling anybody. There, let’s talk again like men of the world. You put my back up when you begin talking all that nonsense about the police. Be sensible, Mr Stratton. I’ve had one dose of over yonder that was not pleasant. I don’t want to get on trial for shooting you—if caught.”