He said in a guarded voice: “Get out of here, you son of a slut!”
“I want to talk to you,” said Carter, hoarsely. “I’ve got to have some money——”
Smull, infinitely annoyed, turned his back and walked westward, turning up the collar of his light overcoat as the drizzle thickened from the River.
He walked a few paces, stood looking back over his left shoulder at the windows where light shone behind the yellow shades.
Presently he was aware of Carter close behind him. His instinct was to kick him aside; but it was too near the house he was watching and he wanted no outcry or scuffle.
“What do you want, you dirty bum?” he demanded, fumbling in his pocket, “—a dollar for a shell of coke?”
“I want you to keep away from my wife,” said Carter in a ghost of a voice.
Smull turned on him savagely. Neither stirred. But it was too close to her house: and Smull, deciding to end the matter quickly, turned once more and walked toward the North River.
When he concluded that he was far enough away in the obscurity he halted, listening for the shuffle of feet.
But Carter came very silently; he was at his elbow again before he heard him. Then, for the first time, the stealthy movements of the man seemed to convey a menace to Smull.