"Yes—I will!"
"Now?"
"To-morrow morning." His face fell.
"Some trick? You'll go back on it." I ignored him.
"But you can't sleep here," I went on. "I'll meet you in town anywhere you say. No, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll come with you to town now, to-night. To-morrow morning we'll settle it."
To be rid of him—to get him out from under this roof—seemed suddenly a great, a priceless boon.
"God! I could kiss you!" he cried in derisive exultation.
"Go pack your things," I said, through the tumult in my brain. "I'll call a cab—or better still, you telephone Hickson, Griselda. I'll go and help him."
Pendleton nodded with grim insolence and shouldered out of the door.
"A better night's work ye've never done in your life," flashed Griselda, with a look of approbation that pleased me as much as any praise I have ever received; and she shuffled out to the telephone.