"You rotten traitor! Get out of my room, or I'll call the police."
Durand found a comfortable chair, drew a case from his pocket, and
selected a cigar. He grinned with evil mirth.
"You will, eh? Like hell you will. You're hidin' from the cops this
blessed minute. I've just found out myself where you live."
"You took my money and threw me down. You hired a gunman to kill me."
"Now, what would I do that for? I hadn't a thing in the world against
you, an' I haven't now."
"That damned ruffian shot at me. He was still shooting when I struck
him with the chair," cried Bromfield, his voice shaking.
"He didn't know it was you--mistook you for Lindsay in the darkness."
"My God, I didn't mean to kill him. I had to do something."
"You did it all right."
"I told you there wasn't to be any violence. It was explicitly stated.
You promised. And all the time you were planning murder. I'll tell
all I know. By God, I will."
"Go easy, Mr. Bromfield," snarled Jerry. "If you do, where do ye think
you'll get off at?"
"I'll go to the police and tell them your hired gunman was shooting at
us."
"Will you now? An' I'll have plenty of good witnesses to swear he
wasn't." Durand bared his teeth in a threat. "That's not all either.
I'll tie you up with the rube from the West and send you up to Sing
Sing as accessory. How'd you like that?"
"If I tell the truth--"
"You'll be convicted of murder in place of him and he'll go up as
accessory.
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