The Womans Way - Page 25/222

As he spoke, Heyton turned his head and looked at him curiously, with a

furtive, cunning expression; but he said nothing; indeed, his lips

closed tightly, as if in repression of speech.

"I shall leave England to-night," continued Dene; "and I may succeed in

giving them the slip. I know one or two out-of-the-way places--but I

needn't trouble you with my plans. All I want to say is that if I'm

caught I shall continue to hold my tongue. And you hold yours, as much

as you can; for, though you think you're pretty clever, you'd make a

silly kind of ass in a witness-box."

He got off the table, buttoned his coat, and took up his cap. The other

man rose and stood, fidgeting with a silver cigarette-box on the table

and looking from Dene's pale, haggard face to the floor.

"You're--you're behaving like a brick--you're doing me a good turn,

Dene----" he muttered, hoarsely.

"Oh, for God's sake, don't do that!" broke in Dene, with contemptuous

impatience. "Clear your mind of that idea. I'm playing the giddy-goat

not for your sake, my man; but--but for your wife's, for Miriam's."

"You're crossing to-night?" asked Heyton, hesitatingly, fearfully. "If

there's anything I can do to--to prove my gratitude----"

"You couldn't prove what doesn't exist," said Dene, with a laugh.

"You're incapable of gratitude. You hate me like poison, and, if it

wasn't for the risk to yourself, you'd like to throw up that window,

call for the police, and give me away." He paused a moment, and looked

the bent, cowardly figure up and down, from toe to crown. "You don't

mean to say that you were going to offer me money? Not really?" He

laughed, and at the laugh Heyton's face crimsoned with shame and rage.

"That would be too funny. I'm off. Remember what I've said. Treat Miriam

well, and you've seen and heard the last of me; let me hear a word--But

I've told you that already; and you're not likely to forget it. A coward

like you will think of his skin before anything else."

Heyton's teeth closed on his under-lip and he glanced at the window;

Dene saw the glance and understood it; with a gesture of infinite scorn

he sauntered slowly to the door, Heyton following him with clenched

hands, the veins swelling in his forehead, his face livid.

As the door closed behind Dene, Heyton sprang towards the bell; his

finger touched it, but he did not press it, and, with an oath, he sank

into his chair and mopped his face.