“I wish you were sober,” said Jarnow. “I’ve got to talk to you now, Henry. I can’t wait until tomorrow. It is a matter on which life depends.”
“Blair is in danger?” asked Henry Windsor. “Tell me about it, Frank. I’ll do anything to help Blair. He’s my only brother, Frank. My kid brother. Ten years younger than I am. Means a lot to me, Frank. Don’t say anything’s wrong with Blair.”
“Listen, Henry,” exclaimed Jarnow. “Forget your brother for a minute. I want to talk to you — about yourself. You are in danger. Real danger—”
“I can’t forget Blair,” interrupted Henry Windsor, in pathetic tones. “He’s all I’ve got in the world, Frank. He’s made good, that boy.
“You know, Frank, when our grandfather died, he left me nearly half a million, and he gave Blair only fifty thousand. Look at me now — I’ve got all my money yet, but no more. Live off the interest — that’s what I do.
“Blair didn’t have enough to live off the interest. He left Philadelphia. He went away — up to Boston, you know. Made money there. Maybe he’s worth as much as I am, now. He deserves it, Frank. He’s going to get my pile of dough when I die. He’s younger than I am, Frank. He’ll live longer—”
“Steady up, Henry!” interrupted Frank Jarnow. “Keep quiet, and listen to me. I know all about your money, and that’s where the danger lies.
“Something has happened, Henry; it affects both you and Blair. I want you to know all about it before it is too late.”
Henry Windsor lurched forward slightly in his chair, then steadied himself against the table. He propped his chin on one hand, and seemed to make an effort to listen intelligently. He had gained a temporary soberness that gave reassurance to Frank Jarnow.
The tall man looked nervously about the room; then leaned forward and spoke in a low, firm voice.