“He didn’t get away,” said McNamara. “He’s in town yet. Just let me land him in jail on some excuse! I’ll hold him till snow flies.” Struve sank into a chair and lit a cigarette with wavering hand.
“This ’s a hell of a game, ain’t it, Mac? D’you s’pose we’ll win?”
The man overhead pricked up his ears.
“Win? Aren’t we winning? What do you call this? I only hope we can lay hands on Wheaton. He knows things. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but more is worse. Lord! If only I had a man for judge in place of Stillman! I don’t know why I brought him.”
“That’s right. Too weak. He hasn’t got the backbone of an angleworm. He ain’t half the man that his niece is. There’s a girl for you! Say! What’d we do without her, eh? She’s a pippin!” Glenister felt a sudden tightening of every muscle. What right had that man’s liquor-sodden lips to speak so of her?
“She’s a brave little woman all right. Just look how she worked Glenister and his fool partner. It took nerve to bring in those instructions of yours alone; and if it hadn’t been for her we’d never have won like this. It makes me laugh to think of those two men stowing her away in their state-room while they slept between decks with the sheep, and her with the papers in her bosom all the time. Then, when we got ready to do business, why, she up and talks them into giving us possession of their mine without a fight. That’s what I call reciprocating a man’s affection.”
Glenister’s nails cut into his flesh, while his face went livid at the words. He could not grasp it at once. It made him sick—physically sick—and for many moments he strove blindly to beat back the hideous suspicion, the horror that the lawyer had aroused. His was not a doubting disposition, and to him the girl had seemed as one pure, mysterious, apart, angelically incapable of deceit. He had loved her, feeling that some day she would return his affection without fail. In her great, unclouded eyes he had found no lurking-place for double-dealing. Now—God! It couldn’t be that all the time she had known!
He had lost a part of the lawyer’s speech, but peered through his observation-hole again.
McNamara was at the window gazing out into the dark street, his back towards the lawyer, who lolled in the chair, babbling garrulously of the girl. Glenister ground his teeth—a frenzy possessed him to loose his anger, to rip through the frail ceiling with naked hands and fall vindictively upon the two men.
“She looked good to me the first time I saw her,” continued Struve. He paused, and when he spoke again a change had coarsened his features. “Say, I’m crazy about her, Mac. I tell you, I’m crazy—and she likes me—I know she does—or, anyway, she would—”