"
"Just as you say," returned the detective stiffly. "He's under our thumb
at present, I can't tell when he may wriggle out."
"Not while your eye's on him. And your eye won't leave him as long as you
have confidence in the reward I've promised you."
"Perhaps not; but you take the life out of me. Last night you were too
hot; this morning you are too cold. But it's not for me to complain. You
know where to find me when you want me." And without more ado the
detective went out.
Mr. Ransom remained alone and in no enviable frame of mind. He was
distrustful of himself, distrustful of the man who had made all this
trouble, and distrustful of her, though he would not acknowledge it.
Every baser instinct in him drove him to the meeting he declined. To see
the man--to force from him the truth, seemed the only rational thing to
do. But the final words of his wife's letter stood in his way. She had
advised patience. If patience would clear the situation and bring him the
result he so ardently desired, then he would be patient--that is, for a
day; he did not promise to wait longer. Yes, he would give her a day.
That was time enough for a man suffering on the rack of such an
intolerable suspense--one day.
But even that day did not pass without breaks in his mood and more than
one walk in the direction of the St.
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