"What--Pedro? He's scarcely a man you know; or else I wouldn't be so
fond of him as I am."
"Very well. Let's call him your worthy associate."
"Ay! Worthy enough for what we want of him. A great standby is Peter in
a scrimmage. A growl and a bite--oh, my! And you don't want him about?"
"I don't."
"You want him out of the way?" insisted Ricardo with an affectation
of incredulity which Heyst accepted calmly, though the air in the room
seemed to grow more oppressive with every word spoken.
"That's it. I do want him out of the way." He forced himself to speak
equably.
"Lor'! That's no great matter. Pedro's not much use here. The business
my governor's after can be settled by ten minutes' rational talk
with--with another gentleman. Quiet talk!"
He looked up suddenly with hard, phosphorescent eyes. Heyst didn't move
a muscle. Ricardo congratulated himself on having left his revolver
behind. He was so exasperated that he didn't know what he might have
done. He said at last:
"You want poor, harmless Peter out of the way before you let me take you
to see the governor--is that it?"
"Yes, that is it."
"H'm! One can see," Ricardo said with hidden venom, "that you are a
gentleman; but all that gentlemanly fancifulness is apt to turn sour on
a plain man's stomach. However--you'll have to pardon me."
He put his fingers into his mouth and let out a whistle which seemed to
drive a thin, sharp shaft of air solidly against one's nearest ear-drum.
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