At ten o'clock, my breakfast over, I opened my door to a knock, and
Follet's bloodshot eyes raked me eagerly. He came in with a rush, as if
my hit-or-miss bungalow were sanctuary. I fancied he wanted a drink, but
I did not offer him one. He sat down heavily--for all his
lightness--like a man out of breath. I saw a pistol-butt sticking out of
his pocket and narrowed my eyes upon him. Follet seldom looked me up in
my own house, though we met frequently enough in all sorts of other
places. It was full five minutes before he came to the point. Meanwhile
I remarked on Joe's defection.
"Yes," he said, "the exodus has begun."
"Is there really anything in that?"
"What?" he asked sharply.
"Well--the exodus."
"Oh, yes. They do have some sort of shindy--not interesting to any one
but a folk-lorist. Chiefly an excuse, I fancy, for drinking too much.
Schneider says he's going to investigate. I rather wish they'd do him
in."
"What have you got against him--except that he's an unpleasant person?"
By this roundabout way Follet had reached his point. "He's been trying
to flirt with my lady-love."
"French Eva?"
"The same." His jauntiness was oppressive, dominated as it was by those
perturbed and hungry eyes.
"Oh--" I meditated. But presently I decided.
Pages:
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255