Suddenly Phelps moved to the door and tried the bolt. It was barred securely. Then he moved back quickly and stood close to Sargent, catching hold of both his arms.
"D'you know they've locked you in here with me?" He began laughing easily to himself. "You can't get out, any more'n I can. You're in my power now like I was in yours this morning." His fingers sank into Sargent's flesh with a grip of iron, his eyes suddenly grew brilliant, his breath came hard and hot in the young fellow's face. "Suppose I'd kill you now! Wouldn't it be fair? You've had your chance! This is mine! You baby—I could wring your neck as easy as a chicken's." He stopped abruptly and stared into Sargent's face searchingly.
The silence deepened. Sargent's eyes met the other's unflinchingly. The pain of Phelps' grip came as a great relief to his mental agony.
"Well, what have you got to say for yourself? Why shouldn't I do it?"
"It is your right," came Sargent's low answer.
Phelps' fingers loosened their hold.
"Humph! So you're not afeard of me!"
"No—not now—after to-day."
"'Cause you convicted me you think I'm harmless—eh?"
"No—because I found the good in you."