"There is still the water," I said.
"I'm a swimmer," he said sullenly. "I couldn't go down. I meant to climb on the rail and take the stuff, so it would look like drowning. But there are plenty of ways."
"Be a man and live!" I said.
He laughed again. "There's nothing in that cant for a man who's sick of the game."
"Live for her sake," I hazarded. "She loves you."
"You've mistaken your job, old man," he said with grim amusement. "You ought to be a playwright. Write her a play. She's a great actress. Yah! I'm sick of it! Love! There's no such thing. Not in women! This is real, anyhow."
I had got him talking. Something told me the crisis was past. I took a new tack.
"She certainly has treated you badly," I said. "I don't wonder you're sore. I know just how you feel."
He turned on me with clenched fist and a furious command to be silent. "It's no damned policeman's business what I feel!"
"Revenge is sweet," I murmured.