There was no mistaking the veiled threat behind that apparently innocent observation, and the Colonel, being a man of more than ordinary astuteness, realized that at last he must place his cards on the table. His glance, as he rested it on Bryce now, was baleful, ophidian. “Yes,” he said, “I would be rather disappointed. However, I pay Rondeau rather more than it is customary to pay woods-bosses; so I imagine he'll stay--unless, of course, somebody takes a notion to run him out of the county. And when that happens, I want to be on hand to view the spectacle.”
Bryce sprinkled a modicum of salt in his soup. “I'm going up into Township Nine to-morrow afternoon,” he remarked casually. “I think I shall go over to your camp and pay the incomparable Jules a brief visit. Really, I have heard so much about that woods-boss of yours, Colonel, that I ache to take him apart and see what makes him go.”
Again the Colonel assimilated the hint, but preferred to dissemble. “Oh, you can't steal him from me, Cardigan,” he laughed. “I warn you in advance--so spare yourself the effort.”
“I'll try anything once,” Bryce retorted with equal good nature. “However, I don't want to steal him from you. I want to ascertain from him where he procured this burl. There may be more of the same in the neighbourhood where he got this.”
“He might. I'm a persuasive little cuss when I choose to exert myself.”
“Rondeau is not communicative. He requires lots of persuading.”
“What delicious soup!” Bryce murmured blandly. “Miss Sumner, may I have a cracker?”
The dinner passed pleasantly; the challenge and defiance between guest and host had been so skillfully and gracefully exchanged that Shirley hadn't the slightest suspicion that these two well-groomed men had, under her very nose, as it were, agreed to be enemies and then, for the time being, turned their attention to other and more trifling matters. Coffee was served in the living room, and through the fragrant smoke of Pennington's fifty-cent perfectos a sprightly three-cornered conversation continued for an hour. Then the Colonel, secretly enraged at the calm, mocking, contemplative glances which Bryce ever and anon bestowed upon him, and unable longer to convince himself that he was too apprehensive--that this cool young man knew nothing and would do nothing even if he knew something--rose, pleaded the necessity for looking over some papers, and bade Bryce good-night. Foolishly he proffered Bryce a limp hand; and a demon of deviltry taking possession of the latter, this time he squeezed with a simple, hearty earnestness, the while he said: