“I remember,â€� he said evenly, “that they were the ones who made the promises. They said ‘good by, good luck and God bless you,’ and sent me on my way, scot-free, so I thought. Today—tonight—I saw that hell-hound from the yard—MacKeenon! Then along you came. Does the world know that I came here after that crib? Has it been shouted to the housetops? I’m done!â€�
Saidee Isaacs blazed back with sudden fire. Her voice raised as she said:
“You’re only on parole! You can’t escape them, Chester! Please do what they want you to do. Do what I want you to do. Then everything will come out right.�
Fay turned his head away and stared toward the boat. The last passenger was mounting the gangplank. The shore-lines were being cast off. A plume of white steam issued from the pipe aft the squat funnel.
“I’m off!â€� he said with final resolution. “I’ll take the old, old trail—away from you and those hell-hounds. They can’t catch me if they try.â€�
“And me?� asked Saidee, with none of her old fire.
“And you can tell them I was with them till they rounded on me. They know me! A crook has got to be trusted if you want him to play square. They’ve shadowed me from London. They’re still sniffing on my trail. But water breaks it, and Saidee, it’s good-by!�
“Don’t go, Chester. You’ll be sorry.�
Her voice had taken on an open threat. He caught the note and smiled bitterly.
“You weren’t that way once,â€� he said, thrusting his hands in his pockets and drawing his coat about his knees. “Once, you were a pal. The best pal a fellow ever had. Now you’re hooked-up with MacKeenon and Co. You’re working for the Yard. How did you get that house—that little motor—those clothes? How did you get them?â€�