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Page 42
He noticed the slow clenching and unclenching of McDowell's fingers
about the arms of his chair.
"Then--I was right?"
"I have every reason to believe you were--up to a certain point. I
shall know positively when I have talked with Shan Tung."
He smiled grimly. McDowell's eyes were no harder than his own. The iron
man drew a deep breath and relaxed a bit in his chair.
"If anything should happen," he said, looking away from Keith, as
though the speech were merely casual, "if he attacks you--"
"It might be necessary to kill him in self-defense," finished Keith.
McDowell made no sign to show that he had heard, yet Keith thrilled
with the conviction that he had struck home. He went on telling briefly
what had happened at Miriam Kirkstone's house the preceding night.
McDowell's face was purple when he described the evidences of Shan
Tung's presence at the house on the hill, but with a mighty effort he
restrained his passion.
"That's it, that's it," he exclaimed, choking back his wrath. "I knew
he was there! And this morning both of them lie about it--both of them,
do you understand! She lied, looking me straight in the eyes. And he
lied, and for the first time in his life he laughed at me, curse me if
he didn't! It was like the gurgle of oil. I didn't know a human could
laugh that way. And on top of that he told me something that I WON'T
believe, so help me God, I won't!"
He jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth, his hands
clenched behind him. Suddenly he whirled on Keith.
"Why in heaven's name didn't you bring Keith back with you, or, if not
Keith, at least a written confession, signed by him?" he demanded.
This was a blow from behind for Keith. "What--what has Keith got to do
with this?" he stumbled.
"More than I dare tell you, Conniston. But WHY didn't you bring back a
signed confession from him? A dying man is usually willing to make
that."
"If he is guilty, yes," agreed Keith. "But this man was a different
sort. If he killed Judge Kirkstone, he had no regret. He did not
consider himself a criminal. He felt that he had dealt out justice in
his own way, and therefore, even when he was dying, he would not sign
anything or state anything definitely."
McDowell subsided into his chair.
"And the curse of it is I haven't a thing on Shan Tung," he gritted.
"Not a thing. Miriam Kirkstone is her own mistress, and in the eyes of
the law he is as innocent of crime as I am. If she is voluntarily
giving herself as a victim to this devil, it is her own
business--legally, you understand. Morally--"
He stopped, his savagely gleaming eyes boring Keith to the marrow.
"He hates you as a snake hates fire-water. It is possible, if he
thought the opportunity had come to him--"
Again he paused, cryptic, waiting for the other to gather the thing he
had not spoken. Keith, simulating two of Conniston's tricks at the same
time, shrugged a shoulder and twisted a mustache as he rose to his
feet. He smiled coolly down at the iron man. For once he gave a
passable imitation of the Englishman.
"And he's going to have the opportunity today," he said
understandingly. "I think, old chap, I'd better be going. I'm rather
anxious to see Shan Tung before dinner."
McDowell followed him to the door.
His face had undergone a change. There was a tense expectancy, almost
an eagerness there. Again he gripped Keith's hand, and before the door
opened he said,
"If trouble comes between you let it be in the open, Conniston--in the
open and not on Shan Tung's premises."
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