“Mr. Warburton, I’m ashamed of that,” replied Neale, hastily. “But I was hot-headed... am so still, I fear.”
“So am I. So is Lodge. So is any man worth a damn,” replied the director.
“Mr. Neale, you look cool enough now,” observed Rogers, smiling. “Wish I was as wet and cool as you are. It’s hot—in this desert.”
Warburton took off his frock-coat. “You gentlemen aren’t going to have any the best of me... And now, Neale, tell us things.”
Neale looked at his papers and then at his chief. “For instance,” said Lodge, “tell us about Blake and Coffee.”
“Haven’t you seen them—heard from them?” inquired Neale.
“No. Henney has not, either. And they were his men.”
“Gentlemen, I’m afraid I lost my head in regard to them.”
“Explain, please,” said Warburton. “We will judge your conduct.”
It was a rather difficult moment for Neale, because his actions regarding the two engineers now appeared to have been the result of violent temper, rather than a dignified exercise of authority. But then as he remembered Blake’s offer and Coffee’s threat the heat thrilled along his nerves; and that stirred him to forceful expression.