"You low-lived, thievin' rascal," he said, "I'm givin' you a chance you don't deserve. Either you'll pay me that money you've stole from that girl or I'll walk out of that door, and when I come in again the sheriff 'll be with me. Now, which 'll it be? Think quick."Web's triumphant expression was gone, and rage and malice had taken its place. He saw, now, that the Captain had tricked him into telling more than he ought. But he burst out again, tripping over words in his excitement.
"Think!" he yelled. "I don't need to think. Bring in your sheriff. I'll march down to your house and I'll show him the man that set fire to my buildin'. What 'll you and that snivelin'
granddaughter of his do then? You make off to think a turrible lot of the old prayer-machine 'cause he's your chum. How'd you like to see him took up for a firebug, hey?""I ain't afraid of that."
"You ain't? You AIN'T! Why not?"
"'Cause he's gone where you can't git at him. He died jest afore Ileft the house."
Mr. Saunders' brandished fist fell heavily on the arm of his chair.
His face turned white in patches, and then flamed red again.
"Died!" he gasped.
"Died."
"You--you're a liar!"
"No, I ain't. John Baxter's dead. He was a chum of mine--you're right there--and if I'd known a sneak like you was after him I'd have been here long afore this. Why, you--"The Captain's voice shook, but he restrained himself and went on.
"Now, you see where you stand, don't you? Long's John lived you had the proof to convict him; I'll own up to that much. I hid the coat; I smashed the bottle. The hat I didn't know 'bout. I might have told you at fust that all that didn't amount to anything, but I thought I'd wait and let you tell me what more I wanted to know.
John Baxter's gone, poor feller, and all your proof ain't worth a cent. Not one red cent. Understand?"It was quite evident that Mr. Saunders did understand, for his countenance showed it. But the bluster was not out of him yet.
"All right," he said. "Anyhow, the girl's left, and if she don't pay I'll show her granddad up for what he was. And I'll show you up, too. Yes, I will!" he shouted, as this possibility began to dawn on him. "I'll let folks know how you hid that coat and--and all the rest of it.""No, you won't."
"Why won't I?"
"'Cause you won't dare to. You've been hittin' at a sick man through a girl; neither of 'em could hit back. But now you're doin' bus'ness with me, and I ain't sick. If you open your mouth to anybody,--if you let a soul know who set that fire,--I'll walk straight to Jedge Baker, and I'll tell him the whole story. I'll tell him what I did and why I did it. And THEN I'll tell him what you did--how you bullied money out of that girl that hadn't no more to do with the fire than a baby. If it comes to facin' a jury I'll take my chances, but how 'bout you? You, runnin' a town nuisance that the s'lectmen are talkin' of stoppin' already; sellin' rum by the drink when your license says it shan't be sold 'cept by the bottle. Where'll YOUR character land you on a charge of blackmail?
"And another thing. The folks in this town knew John Baxter afore he was like what he's been lately. A good many of 'em swore by him--yes, sir, by mighty, some of 'em loved him! This is a law-abidin' town, but s'pose--jest s'pose I should go to some of the fellers that used to sail with him, and tell 'em what you've been up to. Think you'd stay here long? _I_ think you'd move out--on a rail."Captain Eri paused and sat on the arm of his chair, grimly watching his opponent, whose turn for thinking had come. The face of the billiard magnate was an interesting study in expression during the Captain's speech. From excited triumph it had fallen to fear and dejection; and now, out of the wreck, was appearing once more the oily smile, the sugared sweetness of the every-day Mr. Saunders.
