United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
feet of my hiding place, and stood within the dining-room door. The three
within looked at him, and Fagin roared out:
"What is it now? Heard from Culver?"
CHAPTER XXXIII
THEY SEND FOR CLAIRE
I could only see the fellow's back, with hair hanging low over the
collar, but his voice was clear.
"Got here five minutes ago. The preacher is locked in the parlor."
"By God! Good! Now we can play out the game, eh, Captain? Or," turning
about suspiciously, and staring at the other, who sat with eyes shaded by
one hand, "are you weakening as the time draws near?"
"Hell's fire! No! We gave her a choice, and she only laughed at it. I'll
go on now to spite the wench; only I think we should bring in the boy
first, and prove to her that we've actually got him."
Fagin emptied the glass in his hand, giving utterance to an oath as he
replaced it on the table.
"Yer as chicken-hearted drunk as sober, Grant," he said coarsely. "Did
yer hear the fool, Jones, an' after all I've told him?"
The bearded man nodded silently, his eyes shifting from one face to the
other. Fagin grinned, and poured out another drink.
"Now listen again," he went on, half angrily. "That boy's worth money ter
us--a thousand pounds,--but it wouldn't do yer any good ter be mixed up
in the affair, would it? What chance would yer have in this estate, or
fer yer commission either, if Howe or Clinton got an inklin' of yer game?
Good Lord, man! they'd hang yer instead of the other fellow. You'll have
ter lie some as it is, I reckon, ter explain why yer left Sir Henry, an'
came down here. Have yer got that fact inter yer brains?"
Grant glared at him wickedly, but remained silent across the table.
"Yer already in bad enough, without huntin' more trouble. Better leave
the boy alone. I thought, at first, we'd have ter use him, but I don't
now. Let the girl believe he's deserted, and that yer in a position ter
help him. That will serve yer purpose better than the other scheme. It
may awaken her gratitude, her sweet love!"
"Damn her love!"
"So it isn't love, eh, that makes yer so anxious. I thought as much. What
is it, then--revenge?"
Grant held his breath a moment, his dull eyes on the faces of the two
men.
"Well, I might as well tell you," he snarled at last. "I loved her once,
I guess; anyhow I wanted her badly enough. I want her now, but not in
just the same way. I want to show her I'm the master. I want to give her
a lesson, and that cub brother of hers. I'd have got them all, the
Colonel with them, if that damned Colonial spy hadn't stolen my coat. I
had them, dead to rights, Fagin, and the papers to prove it. Now I don't
care how it's done, so I get her. I thought she'd marry me to save the
boy, but if she won't, why then, you carry out your plan--what is it?"
Fagin laughed, again emptying his glass.
"Easy enough. She's alone, except fer her father, and he can't get out of
bed. We've got Jenks here, an' the damned old coward will do whatever I
tell him."
"But she despises me--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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