“You make the condition impossible,” he cried. “You have faith in that man. Good. I have overwhelming evidence that he is the man we are after. Until he is caught the whisky-running in this place will never cease.”
Kate refused to display impatience. She went on talking to the horse.
“Isn’t he obstinate? Isn’t he? And here am I offering to show him how he can get the real criminals.”
Fyles suddenly broke into a laugh. It was not a joyous laugh. It was cynical, almost bitter.
“You are seeking to defend Bryant, and yet you can, and will, put me on the track of the whisky-runners. It’s farcical. You would be closing the door of the penitentiary upon your—friend.”
Kate’s eyes flashed.
“Should I? I don’t think so. The others I don’t care that for.” She flicked her fingers. “They must look to themselves. I promise you I shall not be risking Charlie’s liberty.”
“I’ll wager if you show me how I can get these people, and I succeed—you will.”
The angry sparkle in the woman’s eyes died out, to be replaced with a sudden light of inspiration.
“You’ll wager?” she cried, with an excited laugh. “You will?”