“You’re needing something, McLagan,” he said, his face slightly relaxing. “Maybe I can guess the thing it is. Well, if you’re ready to hand out the price I’ll sell what you need.”
McLagan drew a deep breath. Quite suddenly a curious feeling of admiration stirred within him. The man’s words and manner inspired him with a sense of his own inferiority. His shrewdness and nerve amazed him. He felt he had been read like an open book. He failed utterly to realise that this man was fighting for something he treasured above all else--his life. And knew full well that it was forfeit unless his wit should adequately serve him.
“I surely do,” he said quietly. “And when a murderer is captured, and the irons are fixed right, there’s only one price he can ask. That’s freedom.”
The relaxing was gone from the man’s face. McLagan read the anxiety lying behind that final interrogation.
“I let you go once before, Caspar,” he went on coldly. “I told you then you’d hang, you were born to hang. That’s why I let you go. I’m still sure you’ll hang. That’s why I’m ready to let you loose on this hill country again. But if you want me to do that, why, you’ve got to hand me the story of your ship the _Imperial_ from A to Z. There’s no lies’ll serve you. Len Stern and I know enough to check you up all the time. You can only get away on the truth. In return we’ll release you now, right here. There’s the hill country back of here, and the Canadian border beyond. It’s a dog’s chance. You’re tough, and maybe you can get through. I don’t know and don’t care. It’s a chance of a respite before that hanging which is coming your way.”
McLagan ceased speaking and the sound of Len Stern passing outside came in the silence that followed. Then Caspar cleared a throat that was dry with fierce anxiety. And suspicion lurked behind his expressionless eyes.
“Why d’you need that story? What’s the dirty game behind it? When a feller like you gets his hands on a man he reckons to have done murder, why, for a story, is he ready to hand him a getaway?” He shook his head. “The price is right, McLagan. But ther’s a snag somewhere. It looks like your case is bad. It looks like you’re maybe a bad payer. It looks like ther’s things to you you ain’t yearning to have around in the light of open court.”