esn't prove anything wrong--"
"Oh, come, Marsh, you ain't fool enough to feel that way about it--"
"Let me up, Gilmore!"
"No, I won't; I'm trying to make you see things straight for your own
good. What's the matter, anyhow; don't you and your wife get on?"
Langham's face was purple with rage and shame, while his eyes burned
with a murderous hate. Rude hands had uncovered his hidden sore; yet
ruder speech was making mock of the disgraceful secret. It was of his
wife that this coarse bully was speaking! That what he said was probably
true--Evelyn herself had admitted much--did not in the least ease the
blow that had crushed his pride and self-respect. He lay back in his
chair, limp and panting under Gilmore's strong hands. Where was his own
strength of heart and arm that he should be left powerless in this
moment of unspeakable degradation?
"It behooves you to do something more than soak up whisky," said the
gambler. "You must find out what took your wife to North's rooms, and
you must make her keep quiet no matter what happens. If you go about it
right it ought to be easy, for they had some sort of a row and he's
mixed up with the Herbert girl; you got that to go on. Now, the question
is, is she mad enough to see him go to the penitentiary or hang without
opening her mouth to save him? Come, you should know something about her
by this time; I would, if I had been married to her as long as you
have."
Suddenly he released Langham and fell back a step. The lawyer staggered
to his feet, adjusting his collar and cravat which Gilmore's grasp on
his throat had disarranged. He glanced about him with a vague notion of
obtaining some weapon that would put him on an equality with his more
powerful antagonist, but nothing offered, and he took a step toward the
door.
"Don't be a fool, Marsh," said the gambler coldly. "I'm going to change
my tactics with you. I'm not going to wear myself out keeping your nose
pointed in the right direction; you must do something for yourself, you
dr