“Don’t be a damned grouch, Roberts. You never got an attitude you didn’t ask for. Light up, and I’ll show you some work I’m doing. It’s too hot to fight.”
“Stop talking like a hussy,” said the adviser as he took the cigarette. His face was damp and his hand was shaking.
Martin half-closed his eyes and there was a curious line about his mouth. Then he laughed again and held out a lighted match.
“What’s so amusing?” asked Roberts, holding his hand against his cheeks which seemed to be burning. “Is it this squalor you’re living in, or is it I? You’re steeped in sin, Martin; but this is the first time I’ve felt the flatness of hypocrisy.” There lay his mistake. He’d struck a heel softer than he knew. For with every flaw Martin had, he hated the word just spoken the most. His entire appearance changed and his cheeks became as white as Roberts’ were red.
“Are you here as a friend?” he asked.
The changed timbre of Martin’s voice seemed to stabilize Roberts.
“As a friend.” The adviser was serious. “I have something that should interest you vitally.” He regarded Martin, who still seemed unresponsive. “Don’t underestimate this,” Roberts continued severely. “I happen to know that Carol is following you.” He waited intently for the effect of this speech upon his listener.
“I suspected as much,” answered Martin. “In fact, I found him at it one night and asked him up.”
“What?” cried Roberts, shocked, amazed, with every thread of jealousy burning in his face. “Good God, Martin! The man’s dangerous. I know him better than you do. He’s pathological. He’ll stop at nothing. And you permitted him—you saw him here, alone?”
“Yes,” said Martin dryly. “All, all alone.”