"Why don't you speak?" he finally cried.
"Because I don't know what to say," I replied. "I've an immense pity for you in my heart, old man. You—you've been playing with fire and your burnt flesh is quivering all over."
"Let it go at that, Dave," he answered, rising. "I'm glad you're not one of the preaching kind. I'd throw you neck and crop out of the window, if you were."
"What of Miss Van Rossum?" I asked, gravely.
"They went off a week ago to Palm Beach. Looking for those tarpon. Come along."
"You haven't treated her right, Gordon."
"Know that as well as you. Come on out!"
I followed him downstairs. His car was drawn up against the curb and he jumped in.
"Want a ride?" he asked.
"No, I think I had better go home now."