In
the emotion of the decisive moment his haggard face glistened with
perspiration. Drops ran down his hollow cheeks and almost blinded the
spectral eyes in their bony caverns.
"It means that I am a person to be reckoned with. No--stop! Don't put
your hand into your pocket--don't."
His voice had a wild, unexpected shrillness. Heyst started, and there
ensued a moment of suspended animation, during which the thunder's
deep bass muttered distantly and the doorway to the right of Mr. Jones
flickered with bluish light. At last Heyst shrugged his shoulders; he
even looked at his hand. He didn't put it in his pocket, however. Mr.
Jones, glued against the wall, watched him raise both his hands to
the ends of his horizontal moustaches, and answered the note of
interrogation in his steady eyes.
"A matter of prudence," said Mr. Jones in his natural hollow tones, and
with a face of deathlike composure. "A man of your free life has surely
perceived that. You are a much talked-about man, Mr. Heyst--and though,
as far as I understand, you are accustomed to employ the subtler
weapons of intelligence, still I can't afford to take any risks of
the--er--grosser methods. I am not unscrupulous enough to be a match for
you in the use of intelligence; but I assure you, Mr. Heyst, that in
the other way you are no match for me. I have you covered at this
very moment.
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