"A li'l bird told me. But he asked me not to mention his name. Sorry."
The district stared helplessly into the shadowy features of the man at his bedside. The moonlight shone in at the open window through which Billy had entered. The rays touched a corner of the bed, turning the bedpost to shiny ebony and the counterpane to dull silver. The district attorney could hear the murmur of his housekeeper's voice in the kitchen. Some man then, was in the kitchen with her. Lord! if he dared yell for help!
As though sensing what was passing in the mind of the district attorney, Billy jabbed the gunsight up under the man's chin. "Don't gamble with me, Arthur. Think how your friends would miss you."
But Arthur had already decided against doing any gambling. "What do you want?" he whispered.
"I've been hoping you'd ask me that. It gives me an opening and shows you're willing to be reasonable. Yeah. Arthur, I want you to set Miss Walton free."
"You go to hell," was the sharp return.
"You don't understand," said Billy, in his lightsome whisper. "You're thinking because I'm talking to you so bright and merry that I don't mean what I say. Listen—" the whisper lost its airness and became a ruthless, snarling growl—"listen to me. Because of what you've done to her, it's all I can do to keep from strangling the breath out of you here and now. If I talked to you the way I feel like talking to you, I'd lose my temper and you'd lose your life. I'm trying to hang on to both—for now. Don't make it any harder for me than you have to." He paused. "About Miss Walton," he continued in his former tone. "I'll give you your choice. Let her go, and I won't down you by Sunday night."
"Huh?"
"Sunday night. If she isn't out of jail and the warrant against her withdrawn by noon to-morrow, I give you my word that I'll down you on or before midnight Sunday. And I have a habit of keeping my promises."
The district attorney knew this to be true. But he was a wriggler by nature. "I—" he began.