“Yes—Hogarth, Hogarth”.
“Cheated the gallows? And out of prison? And rolling in my wealth, my riches, my diamonds? Oh, no!—is that fair? A dog? Is that how the world is run? God of Israel!”
“There is this to be said for him: that he deserves to be rich—”
“Who? So you are taking his part now?”
“Tut—!”
“There is no tut about it! You confess that you are nothing more than a penniless hanger-on: well, then, I have you! back to prison you go this hour—-!”
O'Hara's cheek trembled; but he said: “A sufficiently vain threat, sir: I am Hogarth's tutor: he won't let me be taken. Don't waste your time, you impotent Jew—”
“Tutor? That's good! What you teaching him?—murder? outrage? He ought to have a tutor, he! That's good! Tutor! Well, suppose I drop a line first post to your nice pupil to let him know that it was his tutor who stole his diamonds—”
At this threat O'Hara felt himself outflanked; and though his eyes surveyed the Jew unflinchingly during a silence, inwardly he had succumbed.
“A man in Hogarth's situation”, he slowly said, “is always liable to attack. Why should two sharp old fellows like you and me, whose interests are identical, quarrel?”—and instantly Frankl took note of that surrender, that weak spot, and knew that the man was his.