“More nerves!” croaked his grim-visaged relative, but the revolver disappeared.
“Tell me,” said the tortured Meiklejohn; “why have you returned to New York? Above all, why did you straightway commit a crime that cannot fail to stir the whole country?”
“That’s better. You are showing some sort of brotherly interest. I came back because I was sick of mining camps and boundless sierras. I had a hankering after the old life—the theaters, dinners, race-meetings, wine and women. As to ‘the crime,’ I thought that fool was you. He called for the cops.”
“For the police! Why?”
“Because my line of talk was a trifle too rough, I suppose.”
“Did he know you were there to meet me?”
“Can’t say. The whole thing was over like a flash. I am quick on the trigger.”
“But if you had killed me what other goose would lay golden eggs?”
“You forget that the goose was unwilling to lay any more eggs. I only meant scaring you. To haul you neck and crop into the river was a good scheme. You see, we haven’t met for some years.”