The Captain removed his hat, and looked out over the water with a distressed expression. “Are you sure you are right about this?” he asked, when Beveridge had finished.
“Perfectly.”
“You know, it is generally easy to prove a thing when your mind's set on it.”
“There is no doubt whatever. My mind is set on nothing but carrying out my orders. Do you think I would tell you this if I didn't have the whole case right in my hands—cold? I tell you, I've got it. It's the end of one of the worst cases in fifty years.”
“Well, I don't know. I hate to think it.”
“In my business we learn not to think anything. I always thought Maxwell would live and die in the work. If there was a clean man and a good friend to me anywhere on earth, it was Tommy Maxwell. But he had this work before me, and they paid him I don't know how much to cover the scent and skip to Mexico. After all his experience, Tommy couldn't walk by that offer, and now he must end up in Mexico for it. If I told you about the men and the methods that I have had to fight in this business, you would find it hard to believe me. In some ways it has been even a dangerous case.” This was Beveridge's first opportunity to free his mind, and his tongue was threatening to run loose. He was speaking with a certain pride. “You know there is one of us shot, on the average, every year, in this work.”
“I don't know,” said Fargo again. “Maybe you are right about her going. It wouldn't be pleasant for her. I 'll speak to her mother about it.”
“Of course, the sooner the better.”
“Yes. I 'll go in now.”
“One minute, Captain. You understand, don't you, my putting it before you? It's just to spare Annie. There may be rough work.”