“How do I know?” returned Rainey, fiercely. “I was four years in a medical college, when you were in jail, you—” “Stop that!” cried Gaylor. Glancing fearfully toward the open door, he interposed between them.
“Don’t take my advice, then,” cried Rainey. “Go on! Kill him! And he won’t sign your will. Only, don’t say I didn’t tell you.”
“Have you told him?” demanded Gaylor.
“Yes,” Rainey answered stoutly. “Told him if he didn’t stop this, he wouldn’t live till morning.”
“Are we forcing him to do this?” demanded Gaylor. “No! He’s forcing it on us. My God!” he exclaimed, “do you think I want this farce? You say, yourself, you told him it would kill him, and he will go on with it. Then why do you blame us? Can we help ourselves?”
The butler had distinguished the sounds of footsteps in the hall. He fell hastily to rearranging the camp chairs.
“Hush!” he warned. “Look out!” Gaylor and Rainey had but time to move apart, when Winthrop entered. He regarded the three men with a smile of understanding.
“I beg pardon,” he exclaimed, “I am interrupting?”
Gaylor greeted him with exaggerated heartiness.
“Ah, it is Mr. Winthrop!” he cried. “Have you come to help us find out the truth this evening?”