"I see," Michael murmured.
"Don't mind telling you I'm here to play Armitage's game," Charley said.
Michael nodded. "Well, what about it?"
"This about it," Charley exclaimed irritably, his excitement and impatience rising under Michael's calmness. "You're done on the Ridge when this story gets around. What I've got to say is ... you took the opals. You've got 'em. You're done for here. But you could have a good life somewhere else. Clear out, and——"
"We'll go halves, eh?" Michael queried.
"That's it," Charley assented. "I'll clear out and say nothing—although I've told Rummy enough already to give him his suspicions. Still, suspicions are only suspicions—nothing more. When I came here I didn't even mean to give you this chance.... But 'Life is sweet, brother!' There's still a few pubs down in Sydney, and a woman or two. I wouldn't go out with such a grouch against things in general if I had a flash in the pan first.... And it'd suit you all right, Michael.... With this scheme of Armitage's in the wind——"
"And suppose I haven't got the stones?" Michael inquired.
Charley half rose from the sofa, his thin hands grasping the table.
"It's a lie!" he shrieked, shivering with impotent fury. "You know it is.... What have you done with 'em then? What have you done with those stones—that's what I want to know!"
"You haven't got much breath," Michael said; "you'd better save it."