The Hound From The North Part 29

Hervey laughed boisterously to cover a slight nervousness. This att.i.tude of Iredale's was embarra.s.sing. He had antic.i.p.ated something different.

"Is there any need of explanation?" he asked, when his forced hilarity had abruptly terminated. "The only thing which puzzles me is that you've kept it up so long without being discovered."

There was a long pause. Then Iredale removed his pipe from his mouth, knocked it out upon the heel of his boot, and returned it to his pocket. Then he rose from his seat and stood squarely before the other.

"Don't let us beat about the bush," he said. "I think plain speaking is best--in some cases. Now, what have you to say?"

Hervey shrugged his shoulders. His dark eyes avoided the other's gaze; the steely flash in Iredale's grey eyes was hard to confront.

"A good deal," he said, with raucous intonation. "The smuggling of Chinese and consequently opium is a profitable trade. There's room for more than one in it."

"Go on."

Iredale's tone was icy.

"Of course I am not the man to blow a gaff like this. There's too much money in it, especially when worked on extensive lines, and when one is possessed of such an ideal spot as this from which to operate That was a positive stroke of genius of yours in selecting the graveyard as a hiding-place. I suppose now that place is honeycombed with cellars for the storage of--of--yellow. Must be, from the number of 'yellow-devils' I saw come out of the grave the other night. My, but you're slick, Iredale; slick as paint. I admire you immensely. Who'd have thought of such a thing? I tell you what, you were never intended for anything but defeating the law, George, my boy. We could do a lot together. I suppose you aren't looking for a partner?"

Iredale's face wore an almost genial expression as he replied. The rancher's tones were so cordial that Hervey congratulated himself upon the manner in which he had approached the subject.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn't," he said. "As a matter of fact, you must have seen me despatching my last cargo of--yellow. Why?

Were you thinking of starting in the business?"

"That _is_ my intention."

"Is?"

"Yes, is." Hervey's tone was emphatic, and his att.i.tude truculent.

"Ah! are you prepared to buy this place?" Iredale went on. "I can easily hand you over my connection."

"Buy?" Hervey thought this man was dense. "Why, I haven't two cents to my name to buy anything with. No, I don't think there will be any buying and selling between us, George Iredale."

"Then what do you propose? We may as well come to a definite arrangement."

The rancher's tone was peculiar.

"We'll run this thing for all it's worth. Hang to it as long as there's a cent to be made."

Hervey helped himself to more whisky. His self-satisfaction was immense. He had not thought that Iredale would have been so easy to handle.

"Um. A very nice, comfortable arrangement--for you." Iredale moistened his lips slowly. "You'll sup the juice while I squeeze the orange for you. No, friend Hervey, I'm not dealing."

"But you must!"

"Must?"

"Yes; don't be a fool. It means more money to you, and I shall share in the profits."

"If I wanted to make more money I could continue in the business alone. I am not here to make money for you."

Iredale stared straight into the face before him. His grey eyes seemed to pierce through and through his companion. Hervey moved from his position. Iredale's att.i.tude was coldly uncompromising.

"Then you refuse my offer?"

"Most emphatically."

Hervey was inclined to show his teeth. However, he checked the impulse and spoke in a conciliating tone.

"There is another alternative. Your fortune is very large. I want fifty thousand dollars."

Iredale's face relaxed into a genuine smile.

"Your demands are too modest," he said ironically, "Anything else?"

The other's eyes looked dangerous. The lurid depths were beginning to glow.

"The money I am going to have before I leave here to-night."

"Ah! blackmail. I thought so."

Iredale's contempt was biting.

"Call it what you like, Mr. George Iredale. I tell you this, you are in my power and you will have to buy my silence. You like plain speaking; and now you've got it. Refuse compliance, and I leave here to expose you."

"Pooh," said Iredale, leisurely turning to the window. "Do you think I'm a babe? How are you going to prove your charge? Why, you must be the veriest simpleton to think I am unprepared. By the time you can bring the law about me there will not remain a trace of--my work. You can never bring your charge home."

"Ah, you think not." Hervey's words sounded like a snarl. The whisky he had drunk had worked him to a proper pitch. He had not done yet. His next shot was to be a long one and a bold one, and he was not sure where it would hit. He was not sure that it might not rebound and--but his was the nature which makes for success or disaster without a second thought. For him there was no middle course. His temperament was volcanic and his actions were largely governed by the pa.s.sionate nature which was his. Iredale had not turned from the window, or he would have seen the evil working of that face. His own great, broad shoulders were set squarely before Hervey's gaze, and the uncompromising att.i.tude only added fuel to the latter's already superheated feelings. "Perhaps you might find it interesting to know that they are hot upon the trail of the man who shot Leslie Grey."

Iredale swung round like a flash. Nor were the storm-clouds which but now frowned in the heavens more black than the expression of his face.

"You miserable hound!" he cried, his eyes sparkling, and his jaw muscles fairly quivering with the force of his clenching teeth. "What h.e.l.lish crime would you attempt to fix on me now?"

Hervey grinned with all the ferocity of a tiger.

"I wish to fix no crime on you. I merely mention a fact. Leslie Grey was the only accuser of his murderer. He stated before he died that the man who inserted the notice in the paper which ran, 'Yellow booming--slump in Grey,' was the man who murdered him. I suppose you don't happen to know who was responsible for that enigmatical line?

You did not inspire it?"

The look that accompanied the man's words was fiendish. The great eyes shone with a savage light They expressed a hatred which no words could describe. Iredale's hands clenched and unclenched. His fingers seemed as though they were clutching at something which they longed to tear to atoms, and his thoughts centred upon the man before him.

Twice that day he had heard this challenge. Once uttered in all unconsciousness of its significance, but now with hideous meaning. His powers of self-restraint were great, but he had reached their limit.

This man had accused him of a dastardly murder. Suddenly his voice rang out through the room like the bellow of a maddened bull. His great figure quivered with the fury of his pa.s.sion. Hervey had done his worst; now he shrank before the storm he had provoked.

"Out of my house, you sc.u.m!" Iredale roared.

"G.o.d! but if you stay here an instant longer, I'll smash you as I would a louse."

The rancher stood panting at the door. His flashing eyes never left the face of the man before him. Hervey moved; he hesitated. The grin had left his face and a look of dread had replaced it. Then he moved on, forgetful of all but his moral and physical fear of the commanding figure of enraged manhood that seemed to tower over him. He even forgot the weapon which lay concealed in his pocket. He slunk on out of the door amidst a profound silence, out into the soft twilight of the valley.

The door stood open; the window stood open. Iredale looked after him.