“I’m going to stay here, Graham, and you’re not going to try to prevent me or say a word that would injure my standing. If you do, then God help you.”
Brenchfield laughed up at the ceiling.
“Five years ago,” went on Phil, “you wrote a little note in cypher and left it with me when you turned tail and ran away. Maybe you have forgotten about that note. Well,––written things have a habit of turning up.”
Brenchfield’s bravado oozed away. His hard face grew pale.
“You’re lying. You burned that note.”
“Did I?”
“If you didn’t, it would have been found and would have come out in the evidence.”
“Perhaps!”
Phil put his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket, as if to bring out the paper, then he appeared to change his mind, for he desisted and made as if to leave.
Brenchfield jumped up quickly, sprang for the door and stood with his back to it.