“What the devil do I want to arrest you for?” asked Peret, with feigned astonishment. “You yourself have said that I have no real evidence against you.”
The lids of Deweese’s eyes narrowed and the lines around his mouth grew hard. The pupils of his eyes, contracted to half their usual size, looked like points of cold fire.
“If you are not here to arrest me, what’s your game?” he demanded.
“Oh, I just wanted to see what effect my theories would have on you,” replied Peret calmly, as he rose to his feet. “I am a close student of psychology, and I find much in you that interests me. Thanks for your hospitality, Monsieur,” he continued, opening the door. “Perhaps I shall have an opportunity to return the courtesy some day, as I have no doubt we shall meet again.”
“Rest assured of that,” rejoined Deweese, with a sinister smile. “We shall certainly meet again.”
“It is written,” returned Peret.
He looked at Deweese for a moment, and then, with a bow, withdrew from the room.
CHAPTER IX.
THE WORM TURNS
When the door had closed behind the detective, Deweese walked across the room and put his ear to the keyhole.