"The only letters I have about me," he said with quiet distinctness, "are two that are my property. I bought them with the last two thousand five hundred dollars of my own money."
As the words came home to him, Leighton's face grew purple. His brows met in a knot. At his temples two veins pulsed visibly.
"What's that?" he cried with a straining throat. "What's that? You—— Give them here this minute; they're mine! They're mine. They're mine! You know damned well they're mine!"
He had not counted on this. The unexpected disappointment tossed him from the summit of the hopes to which, that afternoon, he had been so unexpectedly lifted. He made a blind dash at Huber.
Luke's two hands caught both of Leighton's wrists. By the exertion of a superior strength that scarcely showed itself, the assistant forced down the master's arms and held them at his flanks.
"They are my letters," said Luke.
"Let go!" Leighton wrenched at the imprisoning grip; but he wrenched without effect. "Let me go!"
"Certainly," said Luke. He freed the panting man. "I merely wanted to protect myself and show you it wouldn't help you to use force."
Leighton, his face still contorted, tried another tone.
"It isn't fair of you, Huber. I'm sorry I went at you that way; but you know well enough those letters belong to me."