“Hello, Rivers! I’m something of a surprise, eh?”

“Hell!” The word escaped Rivers as might a cry that followed a stunning blow.

A guilty person, taken by surprise, always imagines the worst. Rivers knew what he believed the man before him knew, he also believed much that Maclin had insinuated, or stated as fact, and he was thoroughly frightened and at a disadvantage.

His nerve was shattered by the recent interview with Mary-Clare; the earlier one with Maclin. Drink was befuddling him. It was like being in quicksand. He dared not move, but he felt himself sinking.

“Oh! don’t take it too seriously, Rivers.” Northrup felt a decent sympathy for the fellow across the table; his fear was agonizing. “We might as well get to an understanding without a preamble. I reckon there are a lot of things we can pass over while we tackle the main job.”

“You damned–––” Larry spluttered the words, but Northrup raised his hand as if staying further waste of time. He hated to take too great an advantage of a caged man.

“Of course, Rivers,” he said, “I wouldn’t have broken into your house and read your letters if there wasn’t something rather big-sized at stake. So do not switch off on a siding––let’s get through with this.”

The tone and words were like a dash of icy water; Rivers moistened his lips and sank, mentally, into that position he loathed and yet could not escape. Someone was again getting control of him. He might writhe and strain, but he was caught once more––caught! caught!

“In God’s name,” he whispered, “who are you, anyway? What are you after?”

“That’s what I’m here to tell you, Rivers.”

“Go ahead then, go ahead!” Larry again moistened his dry lips––he felt that he was choking. He was ready to turn state’s evidence as soon as he saw an opportunity. Debonair and clever, crafty and unfaithful, Larry had but one clear thought––he would not go behind bars again if one avenue of escape remained open!

Maclin––Maclin’s secret business, loomed high, but at that moment Mary-Clare held no part in his desperate fear.

“What do you want?”

Then, as if falling into his mood, Northrup said calmly:

“First, I want the Point.”

Larry’s jaw dropped; but he felt convinced that it was Maclin or he who faced destruction and he meant to let Maclin suffer now as Maclin had once permitted him to suffer. If there was dirty work at the mines Maclin should pay. That was justice––Maclin had made a tool of him.

“I don’t own the Point.” Rivers heard his own voice as if from a distance. He had Mary-Clare’s word that she would help him; the letter had done its overpowering work, but he had left confession and detail until later. Mary-Clare had pleaded for time, and he had come from her with his business unsettled.

“I think after we’ve finished with our talk you can prevail upon your wife to sell the Point to me and say nothing about it.”

Rivers clutched the edge of the table. To his inflamed brain Northrup seemed to know all and everything––he dared not haggle.

“Who are you?” he repeated stammeringly. “What right have you to break into my place and read my papers? All I want to know is, what right have you? I cannot be expected to––to come to terms unless I know that. I should think you might see that.” The bravado was so pitiful and weak that Northrup barely repressed a laugh.

“I don’t want to turn the screws, Rivers,” he said; “and of course you have a right to an answer to your question. I want the Point because I don’t want Maclin to have it. Why he wants it, I’ll find out after. I’m illegally demanding 179 things from you, but there are times when I believe such a course is justifiable in order to save everybody trouble. You could kick me out, or try to, but you won’t. You could have the law on me––but I don’t believe you will want it. Of course you know that I know pretty well what I am about or I would not put myself in your power. So let’s cut out the theatricals. Rivers, this Maclin isn’t any good. Just how rotten he is can be decided later. He’s making a fool of you and you’ll get a fool’s pay. You know this. I’m going to help you, Rivers, if I can. You need all the time there is for––getting away!”

Larry’s face was livid. He was prepared to betray Maclin, but the old power held him captive.

“I dare not!” he groaned.

“Oh! yes, you dare. Brace up, Rivers. There is more than one way to tackle a bad job.” Then, so suddenly that it took Rivers’s breath, Northrup swept everything from sight by asking calmly: “What did you do with that letter you manufactured?”

So utterly unexpected was this attack, so completely aside from what seemed to be at stake, that Rivers concluded everything was known; that the very secrets of his innermost thoughts were in this man’s knowledge. The quicksands all but engulfed him. With unblinking eyes he regarded Northrup as though hypnotized.

“I took it to her,” he gasped.

“Your wife?”

“Yes.”

“She does not suspect?”

“No.”

“What did your wife say when she read the letter?”

“She’s going to help me out.”

“I see. All right, you’re going to tell her that you want the Point and then you’re going to sell it to me. Heathcote can fix this up in a few days––the money I pay you will get you out of Maclin’s reach. If he makes a break for you, I’ll grab him. I guess he’s susceptible to scare, too, if the truth were known.”

“My God! I want a drink.” Larry looked as if he did; he rose and reeled over to the closet.

Northrup regarded his man closely and his fingers reached out and drew the scattered papers nearer.

“Take only enough to stiffen you up, a swallow or two, Rivers.”

Larry obeyed mechanically and when he returned to his chair he was firmer.

“Rivers, I’m going to give you a chance by way of the only decent course open to you––or to me. God knows, it’s smudgy enough at the best and crooked, but it’s all I can muster. I don’t expect you to understand me, or my motives––I’m going to talk as man to man, stripped bare. In the future you can work it out any way you’re able to. What I want at the present is to clear the rubbish away that’s cluttering the soul of a woman. That’s enough and you can draw what damned conclusions you want to.”

There was an ugly gleam in Larry’s eyes. Men stripped bare show brutish traits, but he felt the straps that were binding him close.

“Go on!” he growled.

“You are to get your wife to give you this Point, Rivers. She may not want to, but you must force her a bit there by confessing to her the whole damned truth from start to finish about––these!”

Both men looked at the mass of papers.

“What all these things represent, you know.” Larry did not move; he believed that Northrup knew, too. Knew of that year back in the past when his trick had been his ruin. “And your simply getting out of sight won’t do. Your wife has got to be free––free, do you understand? So long as she doesn’t know the truth she’d have pity for you––women are like that––she’s going to know all there is to know, and then she’ll fling you off!”

In the hidden depths of Rivers’s nature there heaved and roared something that, had Northrup not held the reins, would have meant battle to the death. It was not outraged honour, love, or justice that blinded and deafened Larry; it 181 was simply the brutish resentment of the savage who, bound and gagged, watches a strong foe take all that he had believed was his by right of conquest. At that moment he hated Mary-Clare as he hated Northrup.

“You damned scoundrel!” he gasped. “And if I do what you suggest, what then?” He meant to force Northrup as far as he dared.

A look that Rivers was never to forget spread over Northrup’s face; it was the look of one who had lived through experiences he knew he could not make clear. The impossibility of making Rivers comprehend him presently overcame Northrup. He spread his hands wide and said hopelessly:

“Nothing!”

“Like hell, nothing!” Larry was desperate and brutal. Under all his bravado rang the note of defeat; terror, and a barren hope of escape that he loathed while he clung to it. “I don’t know what Maclin’s game is––I’ve played fair. Whatever you’ve got on him can’t touch me, when the truth’s out.” Rivers was breathing hard; the sweat stood on his forehead. “But when it comes to selling your wife for hush money–––”

“Stop that!” Northrup’s face was livid. He wanted to throttle Rivers but he could not shake off the feeling of pity for the man he had so tragically in his grip.

There was a heavy pause. It seemed weighted with tangible things. Hate; pity; distrust; helpless truth. They became alive and fluttering. Then truth alone was supreme.

“I told you, Rivers, that I knew you couldn’t believe me––you cannot. Partly this is due to life, as we men know it; partly to your interpretation of it, but at least I owe it to you and myself to speak the truth and let truth take care of itself. By the code that is current in the world, I might claim all that you believe I am after, for I think your wife might learn to love me––I know I love her. If I set her free from you, permit her to see you as you are, in her shock and relief she might turn to me and I might take her and, God helping me, make a safe place for her; give her what her hungry soul craves, and still feel myself a good sort. That would be the 182 common story––the thing that might once have happened. But, Rivers, you don’t know me and you don’t know––your wife. I’ve only caught the glimmer of her, but that has caused me to grow––humble. She’s got to be free, because that is justice, and you and I must give it to her. When you free her––it’s up to me not to cage her!” Northrup found expression difficult––it all sounded so utterly hopeless with that doubting, sneering face confronting him; and his late distrust of himself––menacing.

“Besides, your wife has her own ideals. That’s hard for us men to understand. Ideals quite detached from us; from all that we might like to believe is good for us. I have my own life, Rivers. Frankly, I was tempted to turn my back on it and with courage set sail for a new port. I had contemplated that, but I’m going back to it and, by God’s help, live it!”

And now Northrup’s face twitched. He waited a moment and then went hopelessly on:

“What the future holds––who knows? Life is a thundering big thing, Rivers, if we play it square, and I’m going to play it square as it’s given me to see it. You don’t believe me?” Almost a wistfulness rang in the words. Larry leaned back and laughed a hollow, ugly laugh.

“Believe you?” he said. “Hell, no!”

“I thought you couldn’t.” Northrup got up.

Around the edges of the lowered shades, a gray, drear light gave warning of coming day. The effect of Larry’s last drink was wearing off––he looked near the breaking point.

“Rivers, I’ll make a pact with you. Set your wife free––in my way. If you do that, I’ll leave the place; never see her again unless a higher power than yours or mine decrees otherwise in the years on ahead. Take your last chance, man, to do the only decent thing left you to do: start afresh somewhere else. Forget it all. I know this sounds devilish easy and I know it’s devilish hard, but”––and here the iron was driven into Rivers’s consciousness––“either you or I set Mary-Clare free before”––he hesitated; he wanted to give all that he humanly could––“before another forty-eight hours.”

Larry felt the cold perspiration start on his forehead; his stomach grew sick.

Faint and fear-filled, he seemed to feel Maclin after him; Mary-Clare confronting him, smileless, terrifying. On the other hand he saw freedom; money; a place in which he could breathe, once more, with Maclin’s hands off his throat and Mary-Clare’s coldness forgotten.

“I’ll go to her; I’ll do your hell-work, but give me another day.” He gritted his teeth.

“Rivers, this is Tuesday. On Friday you must be gone, and remember this: I’ve got it in my power to set your wife free and imprison you and I’ll not hesitate to do it if you try any tricks. I’d advise you to keep clear of Maclin and leave whiskey alone. You’ll need all the power of concentration you can summon.” Then Northrup turned to the table and gathered up the scattered papers.

“What–––” Larry put out a trembling hand.

“I’ll take charge of these,” Northrup said. “I am going to give them to the Heathcotes. They’ll keep them with the other papers belonging to your wife.”

“Curse you!”

“Good morning, Rivers! I mean it, good morning! You won’t believe this either, but it’s so. For the sake of your wife and your little girl, I wish you well. When you send word to the inn that you are ready for the business deal I’ll have the money for you.”

Then Northrup opened the door and stepped out into the chill light of the coming day. He shivered and stumbled over a mass of rubbish. A clock struck in a quiet house.

“Five o’clock,” counted Northrup, and plunging his hands in his pockets he made his way to Twombley’s shack.