But I had burnt my boats behind me now.
“It means,” I answered boldly, “that you’ve got to pay up. And you’ve got to pay up now!”
In a couple of quick strides he was round the desk and coming at me as I stood with my chest pressing against the window-sill. His hands were thrust in his jacket pockets. His face was red with anger.
“You dawggorn dirty little rathole spy,”—he spat the words at me in a low, threatening voice,—“I guessed that lowdown skunk Marbran had been getting at some of my people!”
His voice rose in a sudden gust of passion.
“You rotten little worm! You’d try and bounce me, would you? You’ve come to the wrong shop for that, Mr. Spying Jeekes ...”
His manner was incredibly insulting. So was the utter contempt with which he looked at me. This man, who had trembled with fear at the unknown, recovered his self-control on finding that the menace came from the menial, the hireling, he despised. I felt the blood rush in a hot flood to my head. I lost all self-control. I screamed aloud at him.
“There’s no bounce about it this time! If you don’t pay up, you know what to expect!”
I had been holding my pistol out of his sight below the window-ledge, but on this I swung it up and levelled it at him.
He sprang back a pace, the colour fading on the instant from his face, his mouth twisted awry in a horrid paroxysm of fear. Even in that subdued light I could see that his cheeks were as white as paper.