Judging this to be the position most demoralizing, Dick descended with more haste than precaution. Melchard, his entrails shaking, stood, to all appearance, firm as a rock. When Dick tapped his shoulder, he turned, showing a face white and drawn.
"The man Bunce!" he exclaimed.
"Silly liar!" said Dick. "You knew who I was the moment you saw my cheek—guessed I was the man who was queering your game. I have queered it, and I'm going to queer you. Walk in front of me, and don't forget, that, if I have to disappoint myself by killing you, I shan't lose any sleep about it."
Melchard walked silent and erect, with the unseen pistol-barrel behind him.
Dick could see even in the shoulders before him the ripple of fear controlled, but not conquered.
And the sight brought, not indeed compassion, but a separated measure of respect.
When they had almost reached the car, he called a halt.
"I shan't keep on threatening you," he said "You're down and out. Understand, once for all, that, on the least movement, I shoot to kill."
He pointed to the coat spread over what had been Mut-mut.
"That's yours," he said. "Put it on."