“Ah!” Cleigh rubbed his jaw and smiled ruminatively. “He was always rather handy with his fists. Did he kill the ruffian?”
“No, held him at arm’s length and threatened to kill him. I’m afraid Flint will not accept the situation with good grace.”
“Flint? I never liked that rogue’s face.”
“He has found liquor somewhere, and I saw murder in his eyes. Denny isn’t afraid, and that’s why I am—afraid he’ll run amuck uselessly. His very strength will react against him.”
“I was like that thirty years ago.” So she called him Denny? Cleigh laid his hand over hers. “Keep your chin up. There’s a revolver handy should we need it. I dare not carry it for fear Cunningham might discover and confiscate it. Six bullets.”
“And if worse comes to worse, will—will you save one for me? Please don’t let Denny do it! You are old, and if you lived after it wouldn’t be 192 in your thoughts so long as it would be in his—if he killed me. Will you promise?”
“Yes—if worse comes to worse. Will you forgive me?”
“I do. But still I’m going to hold you to your word.”
“I’ll pay the score, whatever it is. Now suppose you come below with me and take a look at the paintings? You haven’t seen my cabin yet.”
What was this unusual young woman going to ask of him? He wondered. The more he thought over it the more convinced he was that she had assisted in the abduction.