The Man in the Twilight by Ridgwell Cullum
page 15 of 455 (03%)
page 15 of 455 (03%)
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Bat, in his wonder at the apparent ease of his rescue, had sought information. But little enough had been forthcoming. Leslie Standing had only smiled in his pensive fashion. "Money," he had said calmly. "Just money. It can do most things." That was all. And thenceforward the subject had been taboo. Even after seven years of intimate relations, Bat was still mystified on the subject, he was still guessing. Now, as he listened to his friend's expressions of faith, so strangely jumbled with calculated purpose, he sat at the table groping helplessly. Suppose--suppose that faith were to be shattered. What then? His mind was concerned, deeply concerned. And he dared not put his fears into words. Standing came back to his chair. "Here, we've talked these things enough," he said. "You've got my word. Just don't worry a thing. If Hellbeam's dogs get around, well--we're here first. All I want is news of Nancy. And that'll be along any old time now. When I get that--." The door of the office was thrust open, and an olive-hued face appeared. It was the clerk who worked in direct contact with the owner of the Sachigo mill. He was one-third nigger, another French Canadian, and the rest of him was Indian. It was a combination that appealed to the man who employed him. |
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