Harrison gave him one contemptuous glance and remarked brutally:
“Madam, this gentleman was to talk with you, but 303 he seems scarcely able to conduct any affair of moment.”
Glory was looking at the broken man, too, and into her splendid eyes stole a pity that had tenderness back of it.
Old memories came in potent waves, and she closed her lids for a moment as though against a painful glare, but with quick recovery she spoke.
“It is imperative, gentlemen, that I have a few words first—and alone—with Mr. Spurrier.”
“If you insist, but——” Harrison’s shoulders stiffened. “But we do not guarantee that we shall abide by his declarations.”
“I do insist—and I think you will find that it is I who am in the position to dictate terms.”
Harrison gave a sharply imperative gesture toward the door through which the others filed out, followed by the chief himself, leaving the two alone.
Then John Spurrier rose, and supported himself by hands pressed upon the table top. He stood unsteadily at first and failed in his effort to speak. Then, with difficulty, he straightened and swept his two hands out in a gesture of surrender.
“I’m through,” he said. “I thought there was still one fight left in me—but I can’t fight you.”