Verinder was no coward, but he was a product of our modern super-civilization. He glanced around hastily. The captain had followed Joyce into the lobby. Moya and he were alone on the piazza, with this big savage who looked quite capable of carrying out his threat.
"Don't talk demned nonsense," the mine owner retorted, flushing angrily.
Colter did not answer in words. The strong muscular fingers of his left hand closed on the right arm of Verinder just below the shoulder with a pressure excruciatingly painful. Dobyans found himself moving automatically toward the end of the porch. He had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out.
"Let me alone, you brute," he gasped.
Colter paid no attention until his victim was backed against the rail in a corner. Then he released the millionaire he was manhandling.
"You're going to tell me everything you know. Get that into your head. Or, by God, I'll wring your neck for you."
The Englishman had never before been confronted with such a situation. He was a citizen of a country where wealth hedges a man from such assaults. The color ebbed from his face, then came back with a rush.
"Go to the devil, you big bully," he flung out sharply.
Moya, taken by surprise at Colter's abrupt desertion of her, had watched with amazement the subsequent flare-up. Now she crossed the porch toward them.
"What are you doing, Mr. Colter?"