The eyes of the woman blazed at him. "Are you mad?"
"It's the truth." Macdonald's voice was curt and harsh. "He and Holt were robbing the bank when Milton came back from the dance at the club. The cowards shot down the old man like a dog. They'll hang for it if it costs me my last penny, so help me God."
"You say it's the truth," she retorted scornfully. "Do you think I don't know you now—how you twist and distort facts to suit your ends? How long is it since your jackal had him arrested for assaulting you—when Wally Selfridge knew—and you knew—that he had risked his life for you and had saved yours by bringing you to Diane's after he had bandaged your wounds?"
"That was different. It was part of the game of politics we were playing."
"You admit that you and your friends lied then. Is it like you could persuade me that you're telling the truth now?"
The big Alaskan shrugged. "Believe it or not as you like. Anyhow, he's going back with me to Kusiak—and Holt, too, if he's here."
An excited cackle cut into the conversation, followed by a drawling announcement from the window. "Your old tillicum is right here, Mac. What's the use of waiting? Why don't you have your hanging-bee now?"