THE VENGEANCE THAT SLUMBERED TWENTY YEARS.
Craig makes no remark, but hands the picture back. Somehow, instead of feeling exultant over the fall of a possible rival, his thoughts are wholly of Dorothy. It looks as if she must soon receive a terrible blow, and he feels sad.
“Sorry if he’s a friend of yours, Mr. Craig, but business is business.”
“Never saw the young man before half an hour ago. I only take an interest in him because he is with Samson Cereal’s daughter.”
“Ah! that charming young woman is a child of the shrewd old speculator, eh?”
“I trust you may not feel it your duty to arrest him while in her company. It would be a terrible shock,” continued Aleck.
The sheriff manages to exchange a sly wink with Wycherley, as if to declare that he can see through a mill stone with a hole in it.
“Probably not, Mr. Craig. At least, I hope such will not be the case. When my telegram arrives, I am bound to let as little time as possible slip through my hands before making sure of my man. In all my experience—and it’s been considerable, let me tell you, young fellow—I’ve found that these quiet chaps are the most to be feared, the most tricky.”
“I don’t question it,” remarks Aleck, who seems disinclined to further conversation, and leaves the others to chat upon various topics, while he wrestles with the momentous question that has such a bearing on his life.
Thus time passes.