“Whistles, yells, omens, signals, portents—what do they matter?” he said. “But what about the crowbar? Suppose I had it! Could I stand in ambush at the side of the door—this door—and smash the first protruding head, scatter blood and brains over the floor, over these walls, and then run stealthily to the other door to do the same thing—and repeat the performance for a third time, perhaps? Could I? On suspicion, without compunction, with a calm and determined purpose? No, it is not in me. I date too late. Would you like to see me attempt this thing while that mysterious prestige of mine lasts—or their not less mysterious hesitation?”
“No, no!” she whispered ardently, as if compelled to speak by his eyes fixed on her face. “No, it's a knife you want to defend yourself with—to defend—there will be time—”
“And who knows if it isn't really my duty?” he began again, as if he had not heard her disjointed words at all. “It may be—my duty to you, to myself. For why should I put up with the humiliation of their secret menaces? Do you know what the world would say?”
He emitted a low laugh, which struck her with terror. She would have got up, but he stooped so low over her that she could not move without first pushing him away.
“It would say, Lena, that I—the Swede—after luring my friend and partner to his death from mere greed of money, have murdered these unoffending shipwrecked strangers from sheer funk. That would be the story whispered—perhaps shouted—certainly spread out, and believed—and believed, my dear Lena!”
“Who would believe such awful things?”
“Perhaps you wouldn't—not at first, at any rate; but the power of calumny grows with time. It's insidious and penetrating. It can even destroy one's faith in oneself—dry-rot the soul.”
All at once her eyes leaped to the door and remained fixed, stony, a little enlarged. Turning his head, Heyst beheld the figure of Ricardo framed in the doorway. For a moment none of the three moved, then, looking from the newcomer to the girl in the chair, Heyst formulated a sardonic introduction.
“Mr. Ricardo, my dear.”
Her head drooped a little. Ricardo's hand went up to his moustache. His voice exploded in the room.