“I haven’t any, Angel. I just think in circles. But first of all I want to have a talk with Billy DuMond.”
“I’m afraid yuh won’t,” smiled Angel. “Bill is scared of his life. I told him the old man knew what he told me. He’s scared of Rance McCoy—and I don’t blame him.”
“Not after what happened last night,” said Lila.
Angel’s face flushed hotly.
“You heard that, Lila?”
“I did.”
“I’m sorry about that. But it doesn’t matter, I suppose. I lost my nerve, Lila. It was one of the most cold-blooded games I ever heard about. But that was like him. The man has no conscience, no nerves at all. He’s a born killer. Friendship means nothin’ to him.”
“I wonder if it does,” sighed Lila.
“Not a thing in the world. He don’t know the meanin’ of the word friendship. Oh, I don’t care if he is my father. I’m old enough to know things. He’s been good to me, in his own queer way. But we never agreed. Last night was the climax. If he had drawn that ace of spades, he’d have killed me.”
“I think he would,” said Lila. “Anyway, he said he would.”