"
"He knew. He knew before!" Mr. Jones mourned in a hollow voice. "He knew
of her from the first!"
Backed hard against the wall he no longer watched Heyst. He had the air
of a man who had seen an abyss yawning under his feet.
"If I want to kill him, this is my time," thought Heyst; but he did not
move.
Next moment Mr. Jones jerked his head up, glaring with sardonic fury.
"I have a good mind to shoot you, you woman-ridden hermit, you man in
the moon, that can't exist without--no, it won't be you that I'll shoot.
It's the other woman-lover--the prevaricating, sly, low-class, amorous
cuss! And he shaved--shaved under my very nose. I'll shoot him!"
"He's gone mad," thought Heyst, startled by the spectre's sudden fury.
He felt himself more in danger, nearer death, than ever since he had
entered that room. An insane bandit is a deadly combination. He did not,
could not know that Mr. Jones was quick-minded enough to see already the
end of his reign over his excellent secretary's thoughts and feelings;
the coming failure of Ricardo's fidelity. A woman had intervened!
A woman, a girl, who apparently possessed the power to awaken
men's disgusting folly. Her power had been proved in two instances
already--the beastly innkeeper, and that man with moustaches, upon whom
Mr. Jones, his deadly right hand twitching in his pocket, glared more in
repulsion than in anger.
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