"It's really very good of you to worry about the sort of man that I have been to you; take my tip, my dear, don't worry. I'll win through."
"But how? How? You don't understand! This--this fool, whoever he is, who pretends he did it, has only made them all the keener. They--they mean to have you now."
"They? And who are they?"
"There's Dale, and Giles, and Harlow, and--and don't ask me who besides. They're all wild because--because you tricked them; because they made such idiots of themselves at the inquest."
Rodney raised his arms above his head, and stretched himself, and yawned, as if he were a little weary.
"They were a trifle premature; coroner, and jury, an eminent specialist, and Harlow, and all--the whole jolly lot of them. I don't wonder they feel a trifle wild. But why with me?"
"You know, Rodney--you know! You know! Oh, don't--don't pretend!"
"On my word of honour--if it's any use employing that pretty figure of speech with you--I am not pretending. I've still another trick in the bag; that's all. And that's what you don't give me credit for, my dear."
"What--what trick's that? You've too many tricks--you're all tricks! It's--Rodney, it's--it's too late for tricks!"
"But not for this pretty trick of mine. Mabel, it's such a pretty one! But now you listen to me for a moment. Pull yourself together. Stand up; let me see your face."