"Steady!" he said. "Don't try to kill me. It would be a waste of time for both of us. I'm not afraid of you, Barnaby, but I have something else to do,—now,—than to stop rowing up here with you. I'd better warn you—"
Barnaby was struggling to hold himself in. Susan had still to be found, and she would want his protection. Rackham was right there, damn him; he must not lose his head.
"And I warn you," he said. "I'll find my wife without your help. Do you hear what I say?—my wife, Rackham. I don't care what story you have got hold of. Understand that. She belongs to me."
"And yet she's gone," said Rackham.
Somebody was knocking at the door, but so discreetly that neither of the two men heard. Rackham, turning to go, had halted to fling back his taunting word. And the other man had no answer. His own storming haste had undone him.
"You can't get over that, can you?" said Rackham. "It knocks the bottom out of your doggedness. If she doesn't choose to carry it on you can do nothing."
"I can take care of her," said Barnaby. His voice sounded hoarse.
"No, you can't," said Rackham, with a sudden fierceness that matched his own. "That will be my business."
"Yours?" said Barnaby, and his look was dangerous. He advanced on the other man with a clenching hand.
"Because," said Rackham, "if she's not your wife:—and she's not; she's nothing to you—I shall make her mine."