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Idepski's smiling interrogation was full of satisfaction. "Go on." The watchful eyes of the financier seemed to have narrowed. "Now, by what chance does this feller, Bull Sternford, come straight from one hell of a scrap in a far-off camp belonging to Skandinavia to run the business end of Sachigo? What happened after that fool missionary got him away? And " Idepski broke off, pondering.
Let him set his nose north of 'fifty' and I'll promise him a welcome so hot that'll leave hell like a glacier. As for his darn agents? Why, say, I want to feel sorry for 'em 'fore they start. Idepski's hating himself right " "I know," cried Standing impatiently. "I know it all. Everything you've said you mean, but it won't save me. But we can leave all that. There's the other things.
Idepski's deductions were irrefutable, because the Swede was a shrewd business man with a full appreciation of the man who had lightened his finances by ten million dollars. For some moments the fleshy face was turned towards the window which yielded the hum of busy traffic many stories below them. His narrow eyes were earnestly reflective, but there was no concern in them.
Well, don't quit his trail. Get him. Get him alive." "Oh, I shall get him. Your urging ain't needed. I'll get him as you say alive. And he knows it." Idepski's cold eyes hardened with a frigid hatred as he spoke. He had only been paid for the work hitherto. Now he was implacable. "But it's Sachigo I mean to watch," he went on, after a brief pause. "I mean to play in that direction.
Standing shrugged. But there was no indifference in his eyes. The acid sharpness of Idepski's retort had driven straight home. If the agent failed to detect it, the watchful eyes of Bat missed nothing. To him the danger signal lay in the curious flicker of his friend's eyelids. The sight impelled him. He jumped in and took up the challenge in the blunt fashion he best understood.
Leslie Martin, or Standing, or Father Adam, as you choose to call yourself. He's waited a long time. But you ain't tired him out. Guess your game's up." "Oh, yes?" The missionary smiled back into Idepski's derisive eyes. "You can drop your hands," the agent went on. "We've got your gun. And I guess you'll be kind of tired before we get you to the coast.
We haven't shouted it, you an' me, because there wasn't need. But Idepski's been right here since ever he got his nose on your trail. It was his gun that took you weeks back, an' sent you sick. If I know a thing he meant just to wing you, and leave you kind of helpless, so he could get hands on you when he fancied. He wants you alive, and he's goin' to git you.
To the waiting man he was simply measuring the threat against him, and probing its possibilities for mischief. "Yet this fellow. He on the run is Yes?" The eyes were smiling as they came back again to Idepski's face. The agent nodded, flinging his cigarette end into the porcelain cuspidore beside the desk. "Which makes me all the more sure of the game," he said confidently. "He's rattled.
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