Between Friends

Graylock looked at Drene's heavily sagging pocket and knew what was

in it. A sudden sweat chilled his temples, but he said steadily

enough: "I'd like to say a word or two--if you'll give me time." And, as

Drene made no reply;--"You're quite right: This business of ours

should be finished one way or another. I can't stand it any longer."

"In that case," remarked Drene with an evil stare at him, "I may

postpone it--to find out how much you can stand." He dropped his

right hand into the sagging pocket, looking intently at Graylock all

the while: "What do you want here anyway?"

"I fancy that you have already guessed."

"Maybe. All the same, what do you want?"--fumbling with his bulging

pocket for a moment and then remaining motionless.

Graylock's worn eyes rested on the outline of the shrouded weapon:

he stood eyeing it absently for a moment, then seated himself on the

sofa, his heavy eyes shifting from one object to another.

But there were few objects to be seen in that silent place;--a star

overhead glimmering through the high expanse of glass

above;--otherwise gray monotony of wall, a clay shape or two swathed

in wet clothes, a narrow ring of lamp light, and formless shadow.

"It's a long time, Drene."

Drene mused in silence, now and then watching the other obliquely.

Presently he withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket, pulled an

armchair toward him and seated himself.

"It's many years," repeated Graylock. "I expected you to do

something before this."

"Were you uneasy?" sneered Drene. Then he shrugged, knowing that

Graylock was no coward, sorry he had intimated as much, like a man

who deals a premature and useless blow.

He sat brooding for a while, his lean dangerous head lowered

sideways as though listening; his oblique glance always covering

Graylock.

"I suppose you'll be surprised when I tell you one reason that I

came here," said Graylock.

"Do you suppose you can still surprise me by anything you may say or

do?"

The man remained silent, sitting with his hands tightly clasped on

his knees.

"Drene," he said, in a low voice, "don't strike at me through this

young girl."

Drene began to laugh, unpleasantly.

"Are you in love with her?"

"Yes. . . . You know it."

Drene said, still laughing: "It's the common rumor. You may imagine

it amuses your friends--if you have any left."