“What do you mean?”
“Mean? I mean that your Mr. Loring is a damned scoundrel.”
“I do not believe it. You speak too harshly. You are angry.”
“Hum! Perhaps.”
Jean stood with downcast eyes. Suddenly she raised them like a condemned man about to receive his sentence.
“What has he done?”
“He has murdered two Mexicans.”
Jean shivered and drew the folds of her dressing gown closer about her. “Mr. Loring murderer! Impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible to a man when he is drunk.”
“Oh, he was drunk, was he? At the shaft, suppose.”