“So you think that your partner is going to kill you, do you?” the specialist asked.
“I don’t think—I know!” the husky voice returned. “All this is only a game of his. He has brought me to New York because he was afraid to do it in Brazil. I have too many friends there, but he’ll find I’m too much for him. Ha, ha! He’ll find out!”
The laugh was so ugly and hollow, and the man so obviously getting more and more excited that Follansbee decided to stave off a further outburst.
“That’s all right,” he said soothingly. “I’m sure you will be able to look after yourself.”
“I’m going to do more than that,” Stone announced malignantly. “I’m going to kill him before he has a chance to kill me.”
It was clear that he had thrown off all fear of Follansbee, either under the influence of his own misguided desires or his belief that the head of St. Swithin’s was not what he seemed to the world.
With a quick movement he rose to his feet, and, leaning over the desk, looked down into the physician’s eyes with a face that worked convulsively.
“And you’ve got to help me!” he added. “I’ve tried three times to do it, twice on board the Cortez, but luck was against me every time.”
“Three times!” Follansbee repeated, in astonishment. “Then Crawford knows what you’re up to?”
“Yes, he knows,” Stone answered, “but that doesn’t make any difference. He’s a fool, and he thinks he’s got to stick by me to wait his own chance. He and I are staying at the same hotel in connecting rooms. We breakfasted at the same table this morning, and I had hard work to get away from him.”