“Of course I won’t. I didn’t say I’d been considering that.”
He stood over me with clenched fists and starting eyes.
“Don’t you see that I want to save your life?” he cried. “Don’t you see that this is the only way? Do you suppose a murder more or less makes any difference to that lot downstairs? Are you really such a fool as to die rather than hold your tongue?”
“I won’t hold it for money, at all events,” said I. “But that’s what I was coming to.”
“Very well!” he interrupted. “You shall only
right. Yes, there was Captain Harris in the flesh, eating heartily between great gulps of wine, instead of feeding the fishes as all the world supposed. And nearer still, nearer me than any, with his back to my window but his chair slued round a little, so that he also could see that door, and I his profile, sat Joaquin Santos with his cigarette!