“I am not a man who finds stubbornness agreeable. I will have those facts. Now, how and why are you here? Answer, you dog!”
“Oh, no,” said Clement. “I’m not going to answer.”
As he spoke, the woman—perhaps something still feminine in her revolted against the horrors she thought bound to come—stepped to the table and picked up the paper Clement had put upon it. Neuburg read it through.
“A confession. Our bright Henry was to sign it, the girl Heloise was to read it, and all would be well. An ingenious plan, Seadon. A well-considered plan. You would have terrorized our backboneless Henry with threats. Perhaps you would have carried it through, for Henry is a cur. But you did not. I intervened. So far, then, that was your idea. But before——”
Clement, who had been watching Gunning’s face, observing the perplexity on it, said evenly, “That certainly was my plan. But I changed it at the last moment. I was about to change it, that is, when you arrived. I found an unexpected ignorance in Henry Gunning. I found he knew nothing about—Nachbar.”
The big man’s hand moved upwards towards his breast in a startled and curious gesture. It was an instinctive defense against an unexpected blow. His breath came in a sudden sharp hiss. His eyes flickered to Clement’s face with a movement and with a light, startled, yet unfathomable. And no other sign did he give. Presently, “What is this talk about Nachbar?” he said, in a quiet, even voice.
Gunning said explosively, “This fellow said something about this Nachbar—and about murder. I don’t know what is meant.”
“They mean the same thing,” said Clement evenly, his attention keenly on the alert for any movement from the mountainous man, or Siwash, or the woman. “Nachbar—Albrecht Nachbar—is a murderer, Gunning.”
“I was speaking to Adolf,” said Gunning, snarling at Clement.
“Albrecht,” said Clement evenly.