His nerve was shattered by the recent interview with Mary-Clare; the earlier one with Maclin. Drink was befuddling him. It was like being in quicksand. He dared not move, but he felt himself sinking.
“Oh! don’t take it too seriously, Rivers.” Northrup felt a decent sympathy for the fellow across the table; his fear was agonizing. “We might as well get to an understanding without a preamble. I reckon there are a lot of things we can pass over while we tackle the main job.”
“You damned–––” Larry spluttered the words, but Northrup raised his hand as if staying further waste of time. He hated to take too great an advantage of a caged man.
“Of course, Rivers,” he said, “I wouldn’t have broken into your house and read your letters if there wasn’t something rather big-sized at stake. So do not switch off on a siding––let’s get through with this.”
The tone and words were like a dash of icy water; Rivers moistened his lips and sank, mentally, into that position he loathed and yet could not escape. Someone was again getting control of him. He might writhe and strain, but he was caught once more––caught! caught!
“In God’s name,” he whispered, “who are you, anyway? What are you after?”
“That’s what I’m here to tell you, Rivers.”
“Go ahead then, go ahead!” Larry again moistened his dry lips––he felt that he was choking. He was ready to turn state’s evidence as soon as he saw an opportunity. Debonair and clever, crafty and unfaithful, Larry had but one clear thought––he would not go behind bars again if one avenue of escape remained open!
Maclin––Maclin’s secret business, loomed high, but at that moment Mary-Clare held no part in his desperate fear.