"My dearest uncle--you really must permit me to lay stress upon your avuncular relationship on what will probably be my last chance of doing so--you are not going to pull the alarm bell, you are not going to stop the train. You have no more chance of doing either than you have of flying to the moon, so get that into your drink-sodden brain. Nor are you going to libel me to Gladys, nor commit me to the mercy of a ruthless police. Presently you will see that as clearly as I do now."
Rodney resumed his seat, still keeping his glance fixed on his uncle, in whose demeanour a change seemed to have taken place which was both mental and physical. Possibly his nephew had used more violence than he supposed. The vigour had gone all out of him; inert, he stared at Rodney with bloodshot eyes, as if drink had taken sudden effect and bemused his brain. The young man's smile became more pronounced, as if he found the singularity of the other's appearance amusing. The tone of his voice, when he spoke, was genial and pleasant.
"My dear uncle, if you, the only relative I have in the world, had treated me, when first I entered your office, as you might have been expected to do, I might have become an affectionate and worthy nephew."
"Not you. You started robbing me before you'd been in the place a week."
"Is that so? So soon as that? Perhaps you have never known what it is to be in want of ready cash."
"When I was eighteen I was keeping myself on fifty pounds a year, for which I was working anything up to sixteen hours a day."
"Indeed! It might have been better if that period of your life had lasted longer. You wouldn't have been in the rotten condition you are."
"What's the matter with my condition? I never had a day's illness in my life."
"My dear uncle, if you weren't in a rotten condition you'd have rung that alarm bell before this, wouldn't you? But, although it's only within a foot or two, you'll never ring it--never, because you are rotten."
Mr. Patterson glanced towards the black knob. Rodney shook his head.