Patsy hesitated, not inclined to further expose his own hand, and Margate quickly added, with a sharper ring in his sinister voice:
“Oh, you need not reply. I already know it. If Carter had the slightest suspicion that I am alive, you would have been informed of it, and would have felt no surprise when you saw me. That’s as plain as twice two.”
“Well, I guess you are right,” Patsy admitted, unable to deny it.
“I know I am right.”
“Let it go at that, then.”
Patsy spoke with an indifference that Margate was quick to resent. He drew up in his chair. A look of intense hatred and bitter contempt appeared on his drawn, white face.
“No, I’ll not let it go at that,” he retorted. “I’ll hand you the whole business, if only to show you how little we fear Nick Carter and his entire push. It will never go farther through your lips. I’ll make dead sure of that.”
His frowning observers, mute observers of the scene, appeared surprised at these daring declarations, but none ventured to interfere.
Patsy was less surprised, for he was quick to detect the bitter feelings that impelled the rascal. Nor did he object, of course, for he was more than willing for him to continue.
Margate did so without hardly a moment’s hesitation.