What a fool you are, Jack, what a coward you must be!" and she struck
him on the cheek with her gloved hand. "You _are_ a coward!" she cried.

His face grew as white as her own, and he did not trust himself to
speak. She gave him a last contemptuous glance and drew her veil.

"Now open the door," she said insolently.

He did so, and she brushed past him swiftly and stepped out into the
long hall. For a moment North stood staring after her, and then he
closed the door.

CHAPTER THREE

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

When North quitted Marshall Langham's office, Gilmore, after a brief
instant of irresolution, stepped into the room. He was crudely,
handsome, a powerfully-built man of about Langham's own age,
swarthy-faced and with ruthless lips showing red under a black waxed
mustache. His hat was inclined at a "sporty" angle and the cigar which
he held firmly between his strong even teeth was tilted in the same
direction, imparting a rakish touch to Mr. Gilmore's otherwise sturdy
and aggressive presence.

"Howdy, Marsh!" said his new-comer easily.

From his seat before his desk Langham scowled across at him.

"What the devil brings you here, Andy?" he asked, ungraciously enough.

Gilmore buried his hands deep in his trousers pockets and with one eye
half closed surveyed the lawyer over the tip of his tilted cigar.

"You're a civil cuss, Marsh," he said lightly, "but one wouldn't always
know it. Ain't I a client, ain't I a friend,--and damn it all, man,
ain't I a creditor? There are three excuses, any one of which is:
sufficient to bring me into your esteemed presence!"

"We may as well omit the first," growled Langham, wheeling his chair
back from the desk and facing Gilmore.

"Why?" asked Gilmore, lazily tolerant of the other's mood.

"Because there is nothing more that I can do for you," said Langham
shortly.

"Oh, yes there is, Marsh, there's a whole lot more you can do for me.
There's Moxlow, the distinguished prosecuting attorney; without you to
talk sense to him he's liable to listen to all sorts of queer people who
take more interest in my affairs than is good for them; but as long as
he's got you at his elbow he won't forget my little stake in his
election."

"If you wish him not to forget it, you'd better not be so particular in
reminding him of it; he'll get sick of you and your concerns!" retorted
Langham.

Gilmore laughed.

"I ain't going to remind him of it; what have I got you for, Marsh?