“He would sell her for silver!”
After uttering which bon mot, Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
This man puzzled me beyond expression. His stealthy movements were strange enough—it was singular to meet him in this lonely house—but more singular still was the business which had brought him. What was that paper? Why did Nighthawk wish to secure it? I gave up the inquiry in despair.
“Well,” I said, “I will not remain longer; I might scare off your friend, and to eaves-drop is out of the question, even if you were willing that I should be present.”
“In fact, colonel, I shall probably discuss some very private matters with my friend Swartz, so that—”
“You prefer I should go.”
Mr. Nighthawk smiled; he was too polite to say “yes.”
“You are not afraid to meet your friend in this lonely place?” I said, rising.
“Not at all, colonel.”
“You are armed?”