"We will leave my daughter's name out of this controversy, sir," Mr.
Underwood interposed, sternly. "Were it not for the fact that your name
has been publicly associated with hers, I would prosecute you for the
scoundrel and black-leg that you are."
"But for the sake of your daughter's name you intend to deal leniently
with me," Walcott sneered. "Supposing we come at once to the point of
dissolving our partnership; it cannot be done any too quickly for me.
May I inquire on what terms you propose to settle?"
Mr. Underwood went briefly over the terms which he had outlined on a
sheet of paper before him on his desk; Walcott, seated eight or ten feet
distant, listened, his dark face paling with anger.
"Pardon me," he said, at the conclusion; "I think I missed a few
details; suppose we go over that again together."
He rose and advanced towards Mr. Underwood's chair as though to look
over his shoulder, at the same time thrusting his right hand within the
inner pocket of his coat. Before he had covered half the space, however,
a voice rang through the room with startling clearness,-"Not a step farther, or you are a dead man!"
Both men turned, to see Kate Underwood standing in the doorway, holding
a revolver levelled at Walcott with an aim which the latter's practised
eye told him to be both sure and deadly. Astonishment and rage passed in
quick succession over his countenance; he looked for an instant as
though contemplating some desperate move.
"Stir one hair's breadth, and you are a dead man!" she repeated. He
remained motionless, and the hand just withdrawn from his coat disclosed
to view a tiny, glittering stiletto.
Kate's only anxious thought was for her father, who, too bewildered to
move or speak, was for the time as motionless as Walcott himself; she
feared lest the suddenness of the shock might prove too much for him. To
her relief, she heard Mr. Britton entering. He took in the situation at
a glance and sprang at once to her side.
"I am all right," she cried, brightly; "look after papa, first; then we
will attend to this creature."
With the revolver still levelled at Walcott, Kate slowly advanced
towards him.
"Give me that weapon!" she demanded.
He gave a sinister smile, but before she had taken another step, her
companion sprang into the room with a piercing cry and intercepted her: "No, no, Señorita!" she exclaimed; "do not touch it! Mother of God! it
is poisoned; a single scratch means death!"
At sight of her, Walcott's face grew livid. "You fiend! You she-devil!"
he hissed; "this is your doing, is it?" and he burst into a torrent of
curses and imprecations.
"Be silent!" Mr. Britton ordered, sternly, and Kate accompanied the
command with an ominous click of her revolver. The wretch cowered into
silence, but his eyes glowed with fairly demoniac fury.