"Hamilton," said Monte, "have you got it clear yet that--that Miss Stockton and I are engaged?"
Hamilton did not answer. His fingers were working nervously.
Monte, summoning all his strength, shook the fellow.
"Then," said Monte, "I want you to get hold of the next point: that from now on you're to let her alone. Get that?"
"Because if you come around bothering her any more," explained Monte, "I'll be there myself; and, believe me, you'll go out the door. And if you try any more gun-play--the little fellows will nail you next time. Sure as preaching, they'll nail you. That would be too bad for every one--for you and for her."
"How for her?" demanded Hamilton hoarsely.
"The papers," answered Monte. "And for you because--"
"I don't care what they do to me," growled Hamilton.
"I believe that," nodded Monte. "Do you know that I 'm the one person on earth who is inclined to believe what you say?"
He saw Hamilton crouch as if to spring. Monte placed his left hand in his empty pocket.
"Steady," he warned. "There are still four shots left in that gun."
"You don't care what the little fellows do to you," said Monte. "But you don't want to queer yourself any further with her, do you? Now, listen. She thinks you tried to shoot yourself. By that much I have a hunch she thinks the better of you."
"And because I believe what you told me about her," he ran on, fighting for breath--"just because--because I believe the shooting fits into that, I 'm glad to--to have her think that little the better of you, Hamilton."
The interior of the cab was beginning to move slowly around in a circle. He leaned back his head a second to steady himself--his white lips pressed together.
Monte drew out his bill-book and handed it to Hamilton.
Hamilton obeyed, and returned the empty purse.
"Remember," faltered Monte, his voice trailing off into an inaudible murmur, "we're engaged--Marjory and I--"
But Hamilton had disappeared. It was the driver who was peering in the door.
The windows began to revolve in a circle before his eyes--faster and faster, until suddenly he no longer was conscious of the pain in his shoulder.
When the gendarmes came hurrying to sixty-four Boulevard Saint-Germain, Marjory was the only one in the house cool enough to meet them at the door. She quieted them with a smile.