"One question," he interrupted, grimly.
Berta whirled upon him. "Ask it!"
"Had you a hand in Bob Hallowell's death?"
"If I had I'd answer, wouldn't I! No. But I had killed him a thousand times in my heart. I hated him above all other men. Men call me The Yellow Typhoon. I accept. Woe to those who stand in my way. If I did not break Hallowell, I spoiled his life. And I have beaten you. You and your sanctimonious Hallowell! Fools, I had but to crook my finger and how beautifully you danced! I'd have twisted you around my finger with half a chance."
"Berta, do you ever stop to think?"
The Yellow Typhoon laughed. "A sermon? Save it."
"No regret, no pity?"
"Oh, I have my regrets ... failures. But if you mean do I regret you and the past, a thousand times no. You say I have returned from the grave. You have yourself to thank for that. I had almost forgotten you. I promise you that I shall seek the mother."
"Take care, Berta! I am my father's daughter, too!"
"A threat?"