Bodney looked at him with reproach. "If I let it. How the deuce can I help it? You don't suppose he'd suspect his son Howard, do you? No man could trust a son more than he does."
Goyle shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't trust him with the combination of the safe, did he?"
"No, for it's his idea of business not to trust anyone absolutely. He laughs and jokes all right enough, and says that this is a fine old world, but he hasn't quite forgotten that he practiced law among rascals."
"Yes," said Goyle, leaning back and stretching himself. "This soft air makes me lazy. It's not natural, you know, to be comfortable in Chicago. What were we talking about?"
Bodney turned upon him almost fiercely, but the visitor looked at him with the self-command of impudent laziness. He was not given to starts. He was born a rascal, and had cultivated his legacy. Coolness may be a virtue; it is also the strongest weapon of the scoundrel, and Goyle was always cool. He motioned with his hand, bowed, smiled, and Bodney's anger was gone.
"Don't get hot, old man," said he. "Everything is all right. If it isn't, we'll make it so. Oh, yes, we were talking about the old gentleman's suspicions. And we've got to take care of them. If I understand it, Howard is to marry your sister. You are all of a family. Your father and the Judge were law partners years ago, and you and your sister were adopted by—"
Bodney waved his hand impatiently. "We know all about that. Yes, and he has been a father to me and I have been—"
"A villain, necessarily," Goyle broke in. "Villainy is born in us, and for a time we may hide out our inheritance, but we can't get away from it. And it's only the weak that struggle against it. The lamb is born with wool and the dog with hair. No, we can't get away from it."
"But we needn't delight in it," said Bodney, with a faint struggle.
"No, and we needn't lie down on it, either. But, to business. The Judge must know who took the money from the safe."