"Where did you get the information?"
"That I cannot tell you."
Keith still hesitated; Morrell turned on his heel.
"Well, I've told you. You can do as you please, but you'd better let the committee decide whether to take the tip or not." He walked away without once looking back, certain that Keith would end by reporting the information.
"Chances are he'll go with the capturing party," ran the trend of his thoughts, "and so he'll be out of reach of this little abduction. But I don't care much. If he follows them out to Jake's by any chance, Sansome will shoot him—or he'll shoot Sansome. Doesn't matter which. Shootin's none too healthy these days for either side! Oh, Lord, most amusin'!"
He thought a while, then turned up the hill toward his own house. A new refinement of the plot had occurred to the artist's soul too much drink had released in him.
Mrs. Morrell was vastly surprised to see him. She was clad in a formless pink silk wrapper, was reclining on a sofa, and was settling down to relaxation of mind and body by means of French novels and cigarettes.
"Well, what are you doing here at this time of day?" was her greeting.
"Came to bask in the light of your smiles, my dear," he replied with elephantine irony.
"Nonsense!" she rejoined sharply, "You've been drinking again!"