The Breaking Point Part 59

"I thought I recognized that back," said the reporter, cheerfully. "Come over here, old man. I want to talk to you."

But he held to Gregory's shoulder. In a corner Ba.s.sett dropped the friendliness he had a.s.sumed for the clerk's benefit, and faced him with cold anger.

"I'll have that letter now, Gregory," he said. "And I've got a d.a.m.ned good notion to lodge an information against you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Forget it. I was behind you when you asked for that letter. Give it here. I want to show you something."

Suddenly, with the letter in his hand, Ba.s.sett laughed and then tore it open. There was only a sheet of blank paper inside.

"I wasn't sure you'd see it, and I didn't think you'd fall for it if you did," he observed. "But I was pretty sure you didn't want me to see Melis. Now I know it."

"Well, I didn't," Gregory said sullenly.

"Just the same, I expect to see him. The day's early yet, and that's not a common name. But I'll take darned good care you don't get any more letters from here."

"What do you think Melis can tell you, that you don't know?"

"I'll explain that to you some day," Ba.s.sett said cheerfully. "Some day when you are in a more receptive mood than you are now. The point at this moment seems to me to be, what does Melis know that you don't want me to know? I suppose you don't intend to tell me."

"Not here. You may believe it or not, Ba.s.sett, but I was going to your town to-night to see you."

"Well," Ba.s.sett said sceptically, "I've got your word for it. And I've got nothing to do all day but to listen to you."

To his proposition that they go to his hotel Gregory a.s.sented sullenly, and they moved out to find a taxicab. On the pavement, however, he held back.

"I've got a right to know something," he said, "considering what he's done to me and mine. Clark's alive, I suppose?"

"He's alive all right."

"Then I'll trade you, Ba.s.sett. I'll come over with what I know, if you'll tell me one thing. What sent him into hiding for ten years, and makes him turn up now, yelling for help?"

Ba.s.sett reflected. The offer of a statement from Gregory was valuable, but, on the other hand, he was anxious not to influence his narrative.

And Gregory saw his uncertainty. He planted himself firmly on the pavement.

"How about it?" he demanded.

"I'll tell you this much, Gregory. He never meant to bring the thing up again. In a way, it's me you're up against. Not Clark. And you can be pretty sure I know what I'm doing. I've got Clark, and I've got the report of the coroner's inquest, and I'll get Melis. I'm going to get to the bottom of this if I have to dig a hole that buries me."

In a taxicab Gregory sat tense and erect, gnawing at his blond mustache.

After a time he said:

"What are you after, in all this? The story, I suppose. And the money. I daresay you're not doing it for love."

Ba.s.sett surveyed him appraisingly.

"You wouldn't understand my motives if I told you. As a matter of fact, he doesn't want the money."

Gregory sneered.

"Don't kid yourself," he said. "However, as a matter of fact I don't think he'll take it. It might cost too much. Where is he? Shooting pills again?"

"You'll see him in about five minutes."

If the news was a surprise Gregory gave no evidence of it, except to comment:

"You're a capable person, aren't you? I'll bet you could tune a piano if you were put to it."

He carried the situation well, the reporter had to admit; the only evidence he gave of strain was that the hands with which he lighted a cigarette were unsteady. He surveyed the obscure hotel at which the cab stopped with a sneering smile, and settled his collar as he looked it over.

"Not advertising to the world that you're in town, I see."

"We'll do that, just as soon as we're ready. Don't worry."

The laugh he gave at that struck unpleasantly on Ba.s.sett's ears. But inside the building he lost some of his jauntiness. "Queer place to find Judson Clark," he said once.

And again:

"You'd better watch him when I go in. He may bite me."

To which Ba.s.sett grimly returned: "He's probably rather particular what he bites."

He was uneasily conscious that Gregory, while nervous and tense, was carrying the situation with a certain a.s.surance. If he was acting it was very good acting. And that opinion was strengthened when he threw open the door and Gregory advanced into the room.

"Well, Clark," he said, coolly. "I guess you didn't expect to see me, did you?"

He made no offer to shake hands as d.i.c.k turned from the window, nor did d.i.c.k make any overtures. But there was no enmity at first in either face; Gregory was easy and a.s.sured, d.i.c.k grave, and, Ba.s.sett thought, slightly impatient. From that night in his apartment the reporter had realized that he was constantly fighting a sort of pa.s.sive resistance in d.i.c.k, a determination not at any cost to involve Beverly. Behind that, too, he felt that still another battle was going on, one at which he could only guess, but which made d.i.c.k somber at times and grimly quiet always.

"I meant to look you up," was his reply to Gregory's nonchalant greeting.

"Well, your friend here did that for you," Gregory said, and smiled across at Ba.s.sett. "He has his own methods, and I'll say they're effectual."

He took off his overcoat and flung it on the bed, and threw a swift, appraising glance at d.i.c.k. It was on d.i.c.k that he was banking, not on Ba.s.sett. He hated and feared Ba.s.sett. He hated d.i.c.k, but he was not afraid of him. He lighted a cigarette and faced d.i.c.k with a malicious smile.

"So here we are, again, Jud!" he said. "But with this change, that now it's you who are the respectable member of the community, and I'm the--well, we'll call it the b.u.t.terfly."

There was unmistakable insult in his tone, and d.i.c.k caught it.

"Then I take it you're still living off your sister?"

The contempt in d.i.c.k's voice whipped the color to Gregory's face and clenched his fist. But he relaxed in a moment and laughed.

"Don't worry, Ba.s.sett," he said, his eyes on d.i.c.k. "We haven't any reason to like each other, but he's bigger than I am. I won't hit him."

Then he hardened his voice. "But I'll remind you, Clark, that personally I don't give a G.o.d-d.a.m.n whether you swing or not. Also that I can keep my mouth shut, walk out of here, and have you in quod in the next hour, if I decide to."

"But you won't," Ba.s.sett said smoothly. "You won't, any more than you did it last spring, when you sent that little letter of yours to David Livingstone."

"No. You're right. I won't. But if I tell you what I came here to say, Ba.s.sett, get this straight. It's not because I'm afraid of you, or of him. Donaldson's dead. What value would Melis's testimony have after ten years, if you put him on the stand? It's not that. It's because you'll put your blundering foot into it and ruin Bev's career, unless I tell you the truth."