“Look here, Squire Braile, I think you did a bad piece of business letting that fellow go.”
“I know you do, Jim, but I expect you'll think different when you've seen him.”
“Seen him? You mean you know where he is?”
“Yes.”
“Well, all I've got to say is that if I can lay hands on that fellow he won't give me the slip again.”
“Well, suppose we try,” the Squire said, and he opened the door into the room where Dylks was cowering, and remarked with a sort of casualness, as if the fact would perhaps interest them both, “Here's one of the Lost, Dylks. I thought you might like to see him. Now, sit down, both of you and let's talk this thing over.”
He took a place on the side of the bed and the enemies each faltered to their chairs in mutual amaze.
“Oh, sit down, sit down!” the Squire insisted. “You might as well take it comfortably. Nobody's going to kill either of you.”
“I don't want to do anybody any harm,” Dylks began.
“You'd better not!” Redfield said between his set teeth; his hands had knotted themselves into fists at his side.