Granter smiled.
“You don’t seem to realise, my friend, that blackmail is the most devilish crime a man can commit.” And he crossed over to the telephone.
The man’s eyes, dark, restless, violent, and yet hungry, began to shift up and down the building of a man before him.
“No,” he said suddenly, with a sort of pathos, “don’t do that, guv’nor!”
The look of his eyes, or the tone of his voice, affected Granter.
“But if I don’t,” he said slowly, “you’ll be blackmailing the next person you meet. You’re as dangerous as a viper.”
The man’s lips quivered; he covered them with his hand, and said from behind it:
“I’m a man like yourself. I’m down and out—that’s all. Look at me!”
Granter’s glance dwelt on the trembling hand. “Yes, but you fellows destroy all belief in human nature,” he said vehemently.
“See ’ere, guv’nor; you try livin’ like me—you try it! My Gawd! You try my life these last six months—cadgin’ and crawlin’ for a job!” He made a deep sound. “A man ’oo’s done ’is bit, too. Wot life is it? A stinkin’ life, not fit for a dawg, let alone a ’uman bein’. An’ when I see a great big chap like you, beggin’ your pardon, mister, well fed, with everything to ’is ’and—it was regular askin’ for it. It come over me, it did.”