“Only the beginning. I propose to drive you out of town and suppress The Searchlight.’”
“A fair challenge. I’ll accept it.”
“I was prepared to have you take that attitude.”
“Really, Mr. Banneker; you could hardly expect to come here and blackmail me by threats—”
“Now for my alternative,” proceeded the visitor calmly. “You are proposing to publish a slur on the reputation of an innocent woman who—”
“Innocent!” murmured the Major with malign relish.
“Look out, Major!” implored Con, the body-guard. “He’s a killer, he is.”
“I don’t know that I’m particularly afraid of you, after all,” declared the exponent of The Searchlight, and Banneker felt a twinge of dismay lest he might have derived, somewhence, an access of courage. “A Wild West shooting is one thing, and cold-blooded, premeditated murder is another. You’d go to the chair.”
“Cheerfully,” assented Banneker.
Bussey, lifting the typed sheets before him, began to read. Presently his face flushed.