“What occasion had you to fall out wi’ Jagger?” snapped Baldwin, whose curiosity allowed him to be side-tracked. “It’s no sort of a game to go about trying to bash other men their heads in——”
“That’s so,” replied Inman, with studied calm, “but when a man’s been interfering with your wife and admits it——! However, that’s between him and Nancy and me, and I’m not wanting a scandal made of it. All I say is ’at it isn’t to be wondered at if I don’t speak as civil as I ought to do. Maybe I’ve been a fool to meddle with your business at all. I ought to ha’ remembered it was none o’ mine, and wouldn’t put a penny in my pocket whichever way it went.”
He both sounded and looked dejected, and Baldwin, however suspicious by nature, was too simple to realise that all this was consummately clever acting, and he began to soften. Yet the taste of power was pleasant; and he could not forget that strange sense of guidance which had impelled him to send Inman about his business, putting thoughts into his mind which he had never framed, and ascribing his misfortunes to the man who had seemed to be his one friend and deliverer.
It was all very puzzling and he took refuge in silence and a heavy scowl. The desk was littered with papers, and he turned and rummaged amongst them as if the clue by which he might release himself was to be found there. Inman waited; and Baldwin never guessed how the cast-down eyes searched his face in an endeavour to read the thoughts it indexed. The attempt was less successful than usual and Inman cursed himself inwardly for his precipitancy. Was he to lose everything, just when it had been in his grasp? The sigh that escaped him was not entirely theatrical.
Baldwin looked up and signified with a motion of the head that Inman might leave; and when the sign was ignored stormed out in the familiar way.
“I beg your pardon,” said Inman; “I didn’t understand you. Am I to take it that I’m sacked?”
“You’re to take yourself out o’ my sight,” snapped his master. “I’ll say naught no more while I’ve slept on’t.”
Baldwin glanced at the clock when he found himself alone. A strong impulse bade him swallow his pride and go down to see Maniwel; but instead of yielding to it he began to reason. It was after ten, and Maniwel went to bed in good time—it was Jagger who sat up late. Besides, what good would it do? Maniwel was at his wits’ end for money—must be; he would sympathise no doubt; but an overdraft at the bank was the sort of sympathy he wanted and Maniwel could not get one himself. “Go!” said the persuasive voice. “To the man who’s stealing your business from you?” another voice questioned. Baldwin listened and hesitated until the hands of the clock pointed to eleven, and then went to bed.