Page:Weird tales v36n07 1942-09.djvu/32

Hank uttered an immoderate laugh, apparently at his own thoughts. Then he said to Peter, sudden chill descending into his words and manner: "At all events, young man, don't come hanging around my ward any more. I won't have it. Just don't like you, that's all."

At the look of sly triumph on his face I began to consider again that clause in our articles of partnership which might be utilized in dissolving the business tie that bound us together, for down underneath I knew lay the direct will to hurt Peter Murray, and I feared that Magda—so slight and gentle and timid—would be wax in those cruelly clever hands, for Hank would stop at nothing.

Peter's face, puzzled for a moment at this direct attack, grew slowly white.

"You're rather unreasonable, Walters," said he, disturbed. "Miss Farrar and I are engaged, and I asked you not to bring her name into this disgustedly silly affair. Whatever your opinion of me, I wish you would honor that request, at least."

"Somebody ought to teach you your manners toward your betters," snarled snarled Hank. His hands were shutting and opening, and shutting again.

"Not my betters," disputed Peter quietly but with a spirit. "My elders, perhaps."

"I'd like to hide you for your insolence, roared my partner, and suddenly swung across in front of me with that heavy fist of his, which I caught just in the nick of time by flinging up my hand against his arm, so that the blow he had aimed at Peter went harmlessly into space. He recovered his balance with an effort, and wheeled about upon me, where I sat quietly alert.

"You may be my senior in the firm, Judge Wilcox," he cried out at me with pointed formality, "but that gives you no right to interfere in my personal affairs, any more than that young cub."

Peter exclaimed sharply, so that we both looked at him in astonishment.

"That girl!"

"Where?" whispered Hank, in a hoarse undertone.

"At that window. She was staring in at us—at you," Peter replied, his voice also sinking to a low murmur. "Lord, how her hair blazes, in the light from our file!"

"Didn't I tell you you knew nothing about women, you fool?" whipped out my partner, and smiled sneeringly at the younger man.

Peter looked at him, his brows a straight line above his narrowed eyes.

"She's followed me here," whispered Hank. His low, triumphant laugh trembled as if with suddenly aroused emotion. "Excuse me, gentlemen, if I meet the lady outside. I have a faint idea that she would prefer to see me alone," and he smirked at us, licking his thick, loose lips with unctuous anticipation.

I exchanged a quick look with Peter. The boy was very pale. Then he strode across the room and stood before the door.

"Don't go," said he, barring the way. "Don't, Walters. I tell you, that girl's got it in for you. That girl hates you."

A great laugh. Hank's head flung back as it issued thunderously from his pulsing throat.

"Hates me? Me? You young whippersnapper, I give you my permission to follow us and find out for yourself how much she hates me."

With that, he plunged at a heavy sweater on a peg by the door, pushed Peter out of his way, and flung out into the chill November night, leaving us silent, staring, half sick, behind him.

"Shut that door, my boy. The night air is penetrating."

Peter obeyed, slowly. Then he came to the fireplace and stood looking down at me, his blue eyes veiled with some secret, disturbing thought.