Though it was in vain that the spy plied him with question and
suggestion, one phrase was like a galvanic current to this inert atrophy
of muscle and mind. "Look here, old man," the intruder said at length,
baffled and in despair, "you mark my words!" The brawny form had come
close in the shadow and towered over the recumbent and helpless creature,
speaking impressively through his set teeth. "You mark my words: your
pals are going to do you."
A quiver of patent apprehension ran over the dimly descried face, and
under the blanket the limbs writhed feebly; but Clenk's resolution held
firm, and with a curse, balked and lowering, the man stepped out at the
place where he had effected his entrance at the moment when his scheme
might have borne fruit.
For old Clenk had struggled up in bed. This threat was true. He had
vaguely suspected the fact, but in the words of another his fear had an
added urgency. He had betrayed his accomplices, he had betrayed himself.
Doubtless it was a race between them as to who could soonest seize the
opportunity to turn State's evidence.
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