“I want to withdraw from the arrangement that we made. I am not fitted to carry it out. As you are aware, I cannot go far enough. This booty is to be my share; the remainder I leave for you and Farbush.”
“Oh!”
The burning little eyes shone through the puckered, slanting lids; the bloodless lips smiled. It was like the horrid mirth of a demon in a mediæval poem.
“Now that our plans seem apt to go astray,” mocked he, “you have thought it well to feather your own nest.”
“I offered all along to do this very thing,” cried Forrester. “I knew when murder was seriously entertained, that I must withdraw.”
Hong Yo arose. His step was wavering and strengthless; there seemed to be only a flutter of life in his shrunken frame; but, to the watching Kenyon, his purpose was as deadly as the look in his eyes.
“You persist in this?” asked he, slowly.
“I do,” said Forrester, quietly.
Farbush sat with one leg crossed over the other; his face had suddenly grown expressionless, his body seemed tensely flexed.
“He expects a climax, I fancy,” thought Kenyon.