Druce tried at first to argue with him. Then he grew angry. Finally he turned on his partner.
“You mind your own business,” he advised him, white with rage. “I’ll manage this thing. The girl’s mine. I’m going to have her. Keep away from her. By God, if you interfere with my schemes I’ll kill you.”
Anson was not terrified by this threat. He knew that in any physical encounter he was more than a match for the slender Druce. But he feared to quarrel with his partner. He was too appreciative of Druce’s value to him and their enterprise to want to lose him. He growled a smothered string of curses, but Druce had his way.
Druce had become so much infatuated with Miss Masters that he had thrown caution to the winds. Never before in his life had he been under the influence of any woman. Now that such an influence had seized him he was overwhelmed by it. He had arrived perilously close to the point where, if he had known the true character of the woman he was sheltering, his infatuation would have led him to risk the danger merely to have her near him. His thoughts were on her constantly, his mind busy during every waking hour on schemes for, entrapping her.
Mary had taken up her abode in the Cafe Sinister on Monday. On Thursday she sent for Druce. He came to her suite eagerly.
He found Miss Masters sitting at the table in the reception room. He sat down opposite her and facing the window at her invitation.
“Druce,” said the girl, “I’ve sent for you because I want to close that deal for the girls I spoke to you about.”
“The girls you’re going to take back to St. Louis?”
“Yes, I’ll want five or six.”
“You’ve been looking over my stock?” said Druce with a leer.