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Updated: May 19, 2025
Just as sure as the sun'll rise to-morrow, Hellbeam'll get Leslie Martin, or Standing as he chooses to call himself now, just where he needs him. And if I know Hellbeam that'll be in the worst penitentiary the United States can produce. Guess you're going to wish you hadn't, Mister Standing." Perhaps Idepski knew his man, and understood the weakness of which Bat was so painfully aware.
You are a fool, a blundering fool. I wash my hands with you." Idepski sat still, patient, as once before he had sat under the whip lash of a man's tongue. And he continued smoking till the great banker's last word was spoken. Then he stirred, and removed his cigarette from his thin lips. "That's all right, Mr. Hellbeam," he said coldly. "It seems like you've a right to all you've said.
Their darn mud-scow mostly runs here, to Sachigo, and there ain't a thing along the way to interest Idepski but Sachigo. We'll be getting word from Charlie Nisson in some hurry." "Yes, we'll get it in a hurry." Standing nodded. He was transparently perturbed. Bat watched him closely. Then, in a moment, his mind was made up.
It was an act of studied coolness that did not for a moment deceive, but it pleased. However, his next effrontery pleased the mill-owner still more. "Say, boys," Idepski observed quietly, as he opened the case and extracted a cigarette. "I guess I'm kind o' glad you left me this. But I don't figger you're out for loot, anyway." Then he glanced up at the man watching him so interestedly.
"Guess you've got nightmare, boy," he said, with a sneering laugh. "I ain't much at figgers, but it seems to me if it's taken you seven years to locate us here, it's going to take you seventy-seven gettin' Standing back across that border. Work it out." Idepski had no intention of being drawn. He replied without turning. "You think that?" he said easily. "Say, don't worry a thing; I'm satisfied.
The boy who runs it learnt his job in the forests of Quebec, and you'll likely understand what that means. Well, you're going right off now. But there's this I want to tell you before I see the last of you for a year. I know you, Idepski. I know you for all you are, and all you're ever likely to be. You're an unscrupulous blackmailer and crook.
For the moment, however, the situation was entirely dominated by Standing, who displayed no sign of relaxing his hold upon it. He flung out a pointing hand, and Bat saw it was grasping the door key. "You'd best take that chair, Idepski," he ordered. "You've opened war on me, but there's no need to keep you standing for it. You'll take that seat against my writing table.
And a terrible realisation of the tragedy of it all took possession of him. At the end of his second reading he handed the letter back to its owner without comment of any sort, without a word, but with a hand that, for once in his life, was unsteady. "That was in the mail Idepski brought," Standing said, as he returned the letter to its place, and shut and locked the drawer.
He deliberately helped himself without waiting for permission, while his eyes dwelt on the gold box containing them. But the financier's mood had changed. The keen mind was busy behind his narrow eyes. Perhaps Idepski understood the man. Perhaps the coolness of the agent appealed to the implacable nature of the Swede.
You should never have let me beat you in that first race across the border. I got away with every cent of the stuff, and you shouldn't have let me. You certainly were at fault. However, it doesn't matter." Idepski removed his cigarette from his lips and dropped the ash of it in the waste basket. "No. It doesn't matter, because I'll get you in the end," he retorted coldly. "Perhaps."
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