Part 21 (1/2)

”Sit down, Nichols. Another gla.s.s, Stryker. So.” He poured the whisky with an a.s.sumption of ease and they drank.

”You see, Nichols,” he went on as he set his empty gla.s.s down, ”I know what I'm about. There _is_ somebody trying to get at me. It's no dream--no hallucination. You know that too, now. I saw him--I would have shot him through the window--if it hadn't been for Peggy--and the others--but I--I didn't dare--for reasons. She mustn't know----” And then eagerly, ”She doesn't suspect anything yet, does she, Nichols?”

Peter gestured over his shoulder in the direction of the sounds which still came from below.

”No. They're having a good time.”

”That's all right. To-morrow they'll be leaving for New York, I hope.

And then we'll meet this issue squarely. You say the man has gone. Why do you think so?”

”Isn't it reasonable to think so? His visit was merely a reconnoissance.

I think he had probably been lying out in the underbrush all day, getting the lay of the land, watching what we were doing--seeing where the men were placed. But he must know now that he'll have to try something else--that he hasn't a chance of getting to you past these guards, if you don't want him to.”

”But he nearly succeeded to-night,” mumbled McGuire dubiously.

Peter was silent a moment.

”I'm not supposed to question and I won't. But it seems to me, Mr.

McGuire, that if this visitor's plan were to murder you, to get rid of you, he would have shot you down to-night, through the window. From his failure to do so, there is one definite conclusion to draw--and that is that he wants to see you--to talk with you----”

McGuire fairly threw himself from his chair as he roared,

”I can't see him. I won't. I won't see anybody. I've got the law on my side. A man's house is his castle. A fellow prowls around here in the dark. He's been seen--if he's shot it's his own lookout. And he _will_ be shot before he reaches me. You hear me? Your men must shoot--shoot to kill. If they fail I'll----”

He shrugged as if at the futility of his own words, which came stumbling forth, born half of fear, half of braggadocio.

Peter regarded him soberly. It was difficult to conceive of this man, who talked like a madman and a spoiled child, as the silent, stubborn, friendless millionaire, as the power in finance that Sheldon, Senior, had described him to be. The love of making money had succ.u.mbed to a more primitive pa.s.sion which for the time being had mastered him. From what had been revealed, it seemed probable that it was not death or bodily injury that he feared, for Peter had seen him stand up at the window, a fair target for any good marksman, but an interview with this nocturnal visitor who seemed bent upon bringing it about. Indeed, the childish bravado of his last speech had voiced a wish, but beneath the wish Peter had guessed a protest against the inevitable.

Peter acknowledged McGuire's right to seclusion in his own house, but he found himself wondering whether death for the intruder as proposed by his employer were a justifiable means of preserving it, especially if the strange visitor did not himself use violence to gain his ends. And so, when McGuire presently poured himself another gla.s.s of whisky, and drank it, Peter took the liberty of asking the question.

”I am ignorant of your laws in this country, Mr. McGuire, but doesn't it seem that short of forcible entry of this house we would hardly be justified in shooting the man?”

”I take the responsibility for that.”

”I understand. But what I was going to propose was a hunt through the woods to-morrow. A description of this man would be helpful. For instance, whether he was smoothly shaven or whether he had a beard--or--or a mustache?”

McGuire scowled.

”The man has a slight growth of beard--of mustache. But what difference does that make? No one has a right here--without my permission.”

Peter sipped at his gla.s.s. As he had suspected, there were two of them.

”That's true. But even with this, we can move with more intelligence.

This forest is your property. If we find any person who can't give an account of himself, we could take him into custody and turn him over to the proper authorities.”

”No. No,” cried McGuire. ”And have him set loose after a trivial examination? Little good that would do. This man who is trying to reach me----”

McGuire stopped suddenly, glaring at his superintendent with bloodshot eyes, and Peter very politely waited for him to go on. But he brought his empty gla.s.s down on the table with a crash which shattered it.