“Precisely.” The look on Gastineau’s face, as he nodded a ready acquiescence, told Herriard he had spoken rashly. “So long. And the longer the better for me. In short, it would be to my interest that your silence should last till the Day of Judgment.”
“I have no intention of breaking it,” Herriard said, as coolly as his nerves allowed.
“I might doubt that,” Gastineau returned, “when I find you and the celebrated Inspector Quickjohn putting your heads together. They say two heads are better than one, but that depends upon the heads. I think I will back mine against yours and Quickjohn’s. Now, if you hope to leave this room alive, which is entirely my affair, just say what that fellow told you about me.”
He looked at his watch, and coolly replaced it. Herriard found himself asking whether, after all, he was not being made the victim of a transcendent piece of bluff. Gastineau’s acuteness and penetration were manifest enough; but his power? Had not he himself the whip hand, if only he would not let it be paralyzed by the stronger brain? His enemy was but a head-fighter, a tongue duellist; there was a clever suggestion of something more; but if it came to that, to physical force, the advantage would be the other way.
“Quickjohn knows nothing about you,” he said shortly, throwing off the vague fear that had possessed him. “He is as ignorant as the rest of the world that you are alive. Now, may I ask you to go? I have had enough of these recriminations, and do not mean to allow myself to be terrorized over by you. Threatening is a game that two can play at, and the odds are scarcely on your side.”
He took a step towards the door; then remembered that it was locked.
“It is a recoiling threat on your part.”
Herriard heard the significant rejoinder, but paid no heed to it. He was sick of the scene, and the evil presence in his room was repugnant to him. “Give me the key,” he demanded, turning.
Gastineau’s right hand was in his coat pocket. As he took a swift step forward, he withdrew it, his eyes fixed with a peculiar mesmeric gaze upon Herriard’s. Something in the look warned Herriard; it was not that of one who is simply giving up a key on demand. But the one man’s eyes seemed to hold the other’s; only, they drove him, instinctively, to take a step backwards. It was well. For as Herriard put out his hand, Gastineau struck at him, at his heart, and the backward movement caused the blow to fall short by perhaps half an inch. Next instant Herriard with a cry of indignation seized the striking arm and closed with him.
“Ah, murderer!”