This remark, delivered with a sardonic dryness, appeared to rekindle Willitts' anger. It flared up like the leap of a flame:
"Then to 'ell with 'im. If they're working up any dirty suspicions against my gentleman they've come to the wrong man. I've got nothing to say; there's no information to be wormed out of me for I 'ave none. Umph—lies, trickery—that's what I call it!"
He dropped back into his former position, his angry breathings loud on the silence, mutterings of rage breaking through them.
"Well," said Mr. Larkin, "now I've put you wise you can form your own conclusion as to what's in their minds."
"Is it in yours, too?"
The question came quick, shot out between the deep-drawn breaths. Mr. Larkin was ready for it:
"I told you I hadn't got as far as that; I'm just feeling my way. But let me say something to you." He rose and, going to the steps, sat down beside Willitts, dropping his voice to a confidential key. "I'll be frank with you—I'll show you how I stand. I didn't intend to tell you what I was, but this fellow coming up here has forced my hand. He knows me, he'll be after you again, and you'd have found it out. Now, here's my position: I want to get this case; it's my first big one and it'll make me every way—professionally and financially."
He looked at the man beside him who, gazing into the street, nodded without speaking.
"There's ten thousand dollars offered for the restoration of the jewels. If I could get them I'd share that money with the person who—who—er—helped."
Willitts repeated his silent nod.