"I'll tell you," went on West coldly, determined now to so anger the fellow as to bring the whole matter to a climax, reckless of the consequences. "I charge you with murder. I haven't the proof, but I'll get it; I do not know the object, but I'll find out."
"You fool! you'll never get away from here. My God, you must be crazy!"
"Never was saner in all my life, Hobart. I am a soldier, and am taking a soldier's chance. Now listen. I feel no particular interest in the death of Percival Coolidge. In my judgment the world is just as well off with him dead as alive. But what this means to Natalie Coolidge is another matter entirely."
"She told you--"
"Yes, she told me--a lie. That is what hurts; what makes me ready to take any chance to put you where you belong. You have lied to her, deceived her, made her your accomplice in crime. I'm fighting for a woman, because she has got no one else to fight for her."
"Oh, I see; in love, hey--with her, or her money?"
"With neither so far as I know," frankly. "She is a woman helpless in your hands; that is sufficient."
"But, hell, she hasn't any use for you--didn't she tell you so?"
"Quite plainly--yes. But that is no excuse for any man to play the coward. I am not afraid of you, Hobart, or your gang. You got me before by treachery; I was not looking for trouble. But now I am. I am going through that door, and if you try to stop me you are going to get hurt."
The fellow grinned, one hand thrust into the outer pocket of his coat, his eyes narrowed into ugly slits.
"You think so! You haven't a weapon on you, West, and if you take a step, I'll put you out of commission. I know how to handle your kind, you big bluffer. What I want to know is what you have got in your head, for, believe me, I don't take any stock in this woman stuff. Are you after the coin?"
"What coin?"
"Well, maybe a slice of old Coolidge's boodle. There's enough of it for all hands to have a dip. How does that hit you?"
"Sounds interesting at least," admitted West, so earnestly as to attract the other's attention. "But let's talk it over among ourselves--who is listening there?"
Hobart glanced behind at the nearly closed door. It was for only a second he was off guard, yet that was enough. With one leap forward, West struck, his clinched fist smashing against the side of the fellow's jaw. It was a wicked, vicious blow, with all the propelling force of the body behind it, and Hobart went down stunned, crashing the door tightly shut as he fell. Once he strove blindly to reach his feet, tugging madly at the weapon in his pocket, but West, feeling no mercy, and wide awake to the fact that any shooting would mean a call for help, struck again, sending his groggy opponent flat, and unconscious. It was all the swift work of a minute, and there had been no noise to arouse alarm. Hobart had not even cried out; the only audible sounds being the sharp click of the door, and the dull thud of a falling body.