Warner smiled; but it was not the genial beam of his office manner. For when the corners of his drooping mouth lifted, they showed merely a gleam of canine teeth, which lay on his lip like fangs.
“I suppose, when it’s over, she’s your personal property,” he concluded.
“Oh, sure!” responded Byan carelessly.
“You’ll not—” began O’Hearn; but this time it was Warner who interrupted.
“Mickey,” he said, “any arrangements between this lady and Byan are their own private affair—after the touch-off, which may stand you twenty-five thousand shiners. Besides—” He did not make his threatening gesture now, but merely flashed that smile of fangs and sinister suggestion. Then he rose.
“All right,” he said. “Come on—all of you—and I’ll give her that little business talk, before she’s had time to think and work up another notion. Maybe she’ll fall for it right away.”
“Not right away, she won’t,” Byan promulgated from the depths of his experience, “but before I’m through, she will.”
The three men came filing into the room where Susannah sat, her elbows on the desk, her chin on her hands. She rose abruptly and faced them, eyes wide, lips parted. Mr. Warner wore his office manner; his smile was now benevolent.
“I have been telling Mr. Byan and Mr. O’Hearn about your experience and your decision, Miss Ayer,” began Mr. Warner.