Presently, just as he had expected, Drinkwater came by the door again.
“Hey, there!”
The lawyer stopped, but this time there was no smile on his face.
“Well, what is it?” he said curtly.
“Told you to keep away from this end—savvy?” said O’Leary, looking at him.
“I do not recognize, O’Leary,” said the lawyer, puffing after every third word, and speaking as though he were addressing the court, “any right of yours to tell me what I should do.”
“You don’t? Well, I do. What’s going on in there is nothing in your life, old horse, so I’ve just made up my mind to sit here and see that no little five-dollar lawyer goes soft-footing it down there to sneak around. You see, Drinkwater, I’m on to your game.”
“What do you mean?” said the other, quietly enough, though his fingers were twitching at the hem of his coat.
“Think it over,” said O’Leary. “I’m not at all certain that this isn’t some of your work to-night. But you heard what I said. Now, git!”
Drinkwater stood looking at him stubbornly, hatred fairly oozing out of his brilliant black eyes that were now drawn and wicked as a cornered reptile’s. Then he blew through his nostrils again and went up the hall.