“Do you offer—”
“Yes; if you’ll marry her afterwards. If you say you will I’ll take your word.”
“And then you’ll be out of your misery, you damned coward!”
“God knows.... But I think not,” said Graylock, under his breath.
Drene twisted the automatic, rose and continued to twirl it, considering. Presently he began to pace the floor, no longer noticing the other man. Once his promenade brought him up facing the wall where a calendar hung.
He stood for a while looking at it absently. After a few moments he stepped nearer, detached the sheet for the present month, then one by one tore off the remaining sheets until he came to the month marked December, Graylock watching him all the while.
“I think it happened on Christmas,” remarked Drene turning toward the other and laying a finger on the number 25 printed in red.
Graylock’s head bent slightly.
“Very well. Suppose about eleven o’clock on Christmas night you give your automatic a thorough cleaning.
“If you say so.”