Perspiration was standing out on Parker Steel’s forehead. He flashed a grateful yet savage glance at Murchison, and braced back his shoulders with a sigh of bitter relief.
“I think a London opinion would be advisable, Murchison, eh?”
“I think so, most certainly, in view of the operation that may have to be performed immediately.”
“Thank you, gentlemen, thank you. I presume this means my writing out a check for a hundred guineas.”
“Your daughter’s condition, sir—”
“Of course, of course. Don’t mention the expense. And you will manage—”
Parker Steel resumed his dictatorship.
“I will wire at once,” he said; “we must lose no time.”
He accompanied Murchison from the house, jerky and distraught in manner, a man laboring under a most unwelcome obligation. The rivals shook hands. There was much of the anger of the sunset in Parker Steel’s heart as he watched Murchison’s car go throbbing down the drive amid the slanting shadows of the silent trees.