"By God! you won't always have the drop on me—"
"Well, I have now. Speak up; who is the man?"
His eyes ranged along the wall, an expression in them like that of a whipped cur.
"Philip Henley," he whispered, so low I scarcely caught the name.
"What!"
"Wal, I told yer," he growled resentfully. "Yer kin believe er not just as you please, but, so help me, that's the truth. I reckon I know."
As I stared at him, half believing, half incredulous, I became conscious that she stood in the hall doorway. Coombs lifted his head, glad of any respite, and I glanced aside also, dropping the revolver back into my coat pocket.
"You—you were quarreling?" she asked, coming into the room, "you were so long I became anxious, and came down."
"Nothing serious," I assured her, smilingly. "Coombs here was a little reluctant to impart information, and I was compelled to resort to primitive methods. The result has been quite satisfactory."
"Kin I go now?" he asked uneasily.