"They've got him?"
The millionaire did not answer. Nor did he display the least elation at the success of the trap he had laid and successfully worked.
Only the stony light of his eyes remained. If he had no elation it is doubtful that he possessed any feeling of a gentler nature. He had simply done what he had set out to do—done the thing he intended, as he always did. He rarely experienced any feeling of triumph in the working of his plans. That he possessed passionate human feelings there was little enough doubt. But these were quite apart from the scheming of his machine-like brain.
His cigar glowed under the pressure at which he was smoking, and this was the only indication Angus beheld of any unusual emotion.
The manager stirred uneasily at the lengthening silence.
"She tried to go—when you first came," he said hesitatingly.
Hendrie only nodded, and the quick glance of his eyes silenced any further attempt on the part of the other.
Angus watched him silently, and, as he watched, it almost seemed to him that somehow the man's great figure had shrunk. Maybe it was the way he was sitting, huddled in his chair. Certainly the old command of his personality seemed to have lessened, he looked older, and there was a curious, gray look about his face. He looked weary, an utterly tired man. Yes, if he could only have associated such a thing with Alexander Hendrie, he looked like—a beaten man.
But at last the silence was broken, and with it vanished the last sign which Angus had read so pessimistically in his employer. The great head was lifted alertly, and the steady eyes lit anew.
"Guess you don't know much about women, Angus," he said thoughtfully.