"Yes," said he.
"And, as seems usual of late, it has been kept from me."
Again Weir nodded.
"I have been very careful to do so," he said coldly. "For it is a matter that needs patience; and you long ago convinced me that you have little of that."
Tarrant arose; his look was threatening and bitter.
"By God," he said. "Am I a chuckle-head? Am I to be put aside whenever you feel so disposed? Am I to be used as though I had no brains in my skull?"
He stood over Weir, his face white with passion. But Weir did not move; the cold green eyes glinted like agate, and when he spoke his voice was level.
"Some day," he said, "when you insist on interfering with my way of dealing with matters, I'll crack your skull with a bullet; then we shall see if it holds the brains you boast of."
Tarrant seemed on the point of leaping upon him; but Blake leaned forward and shook a warning finger.
"Sit down," he said unemotionally. "Are we not friends and co-laborers? Sit down."