"Such an operation is a serious matter?" "Yes. It must be. But think . . ."
"A man might die under the hands of the surgeon?"
"Yes. There is always the danger, there is always the chance of death resulting from any but the most minor of operations. But you are not the man to be afraid, Rod Norton. I know that."
"You say that you have specialized In this sort of thing." He was probing for her thoughts with keen, narrowed eyes. "Would you be willing to perform that operation for me?"
She shrank back suddenly, her hand dropping from his arm.
"No," she cried. "No, no."
He smiled triumphantly.
"Then we'll let it go for a while. If you wouldn't care to do it, afraid that I might die under your knife, I guess I don't want it done at all. I am quite content with things as they are. I see the way to gain the ends I desire; I am gaining them; if there is a brain pressure, well, I'm quite ready to thank God and Moraga for it! Which you may take as absolutely final, Dr. Page!"
She was beaten then and she knew it. She went back to her chair in a sort of bewildered despair, her hands dropping idly to her lap.
"It would be just as well," he said presently, "if I left before any one came in. Before I go, do you mind telling me what you mean to do? Shall you denounce me? Are you going to spread your suspicions abroad?"