“Hand it over to you?” exclaimed the lawyer.
“Yes, or pay me my own price for it. I want ten thousand down, and good security——”
“Pay you—you miserable jail-bird!” almost fiercely interrupted the angry lawyer. “I’ll pay you——”
Under other circumstances, the manifest indignation of so dangerous a man as Judge Danvers would probably have cowed the Major at once, but the alcoholic poison he had absorbed had done its usual work. He was—or seemed to be—perfectly sober, but the idea uppermost in his mind at the moment, was that he could assert his ownership of that valise, and that he had the physical strength to “clean out” not only the lawyer, but his whole office full of clerks.
He sprang to his feet, therefore, and was reaching out his long, powerful arm towards the black leather prize, when the door of the office swung open, just as Judge Danvers struck sharply upon his sonorous little table-bell.
“Mr. Norton!” exclaimed the Judge, whose usually placid face was fairly purple with indignation.
“Norton!” echoed Major Montague, as he drew back his hand and turned to face the newcomer.
“Davis!” shouted the Judge to the clerk who now put his head inside the door, “call an officer and ask him to wait outside.”
“One here now, sir,” responded the clerk.
“All right,” said the Judge. “Sit down, Montague. Mr. Norton, I am glad to see you, but I’m very much occupied at this moment. Please excuse me till I’m done with this person.”