Pasco put out his hand to shake that of Coaker. It was cold and trembled.
The devil was playing a game with him. He was offering him a reprieve from his embarrassments, and at the same time thrusting him forward to the accomplishment of the evil deed on which he brooded, and was placing in his hands the means of executing it.
Pasco sank into deep thought, looking at the match-box and playing with it, now opening, then shutting it.
“I’m depriving you of it,” he said.
“Not a bit. I have a dozen. They are just brought in from London and are selling off amazin’ fast at Ashburton. In a week they’ll be all over the country and the tinder boxes chucked away.”
“Are they dangerous—I mean to carry about with one?” asked Pasco.
“Not a bit. There is no fire till you strike it out.”
Then Pepperill again fell into meditation. He put the box into his pocket, and sat looking before him into space, speechless.
Suddenly a shock went through his frame. He had been touched on the arm by Coaker.
“What is it?” he asked, with quivering lips.