"No," said Brooke, drily. "Devine doesn't either, which I fancy is probably as well for the man. The one who holds the rights is, I understand, only the dummy."
"Then I'll tell you right now. It's me."
Brooke started visibly, and then laid a firm restraint upon himself. "I warned you against leaving me in the dark."
Saxton slammed his hand down on the table. "Well," he said, "who would have figured on your taking up that contract? What in the name of thunder do you want to build his slingway for?"
Brooke sat thoughtfully silent for a moment or two. "To tell the truth, I'm not quite sure I know. The thing, you see, got hold of me."
"You don't know!" and Saxton laughed again, unpleasantly. "It's no great wonder they were glad to send you out here from the Old Country. The last thing I counted on was that my partner would spoil my game. You'll have to stop it right away."
Brooke closed his eyes a trifle, and looked at him. "No," he said. "That is precisely what can't be done."
There was no anger in his voice, and he made no particular display of resolution, but Saxton seemed to realize that this decision was definite. He sat fuming for a space, and then made a little emphatic gesture, which expressed complete bewilderment as well as desperation. Still, even then, he was quick enough of wit to make no futile protest, for there are occasions when the quiet inertia of the insular Englishman, who has made up his mind, is more than a match for the nervous impatience of the Westerner.
"Well," he said again, as though it was the only thing that occurred to him, "what did you do it for?"
Brooke smiled quietly. "As I told you not long ago, I really don't know."