I supposed I would find you alone."
Lacy sank back into his chair, endeavouring to smile.
"This gentleman is a friend of mine," he explained. "Whatever you care
to say can be said before him."
"I am quite well aware of that and also that he is now present so that
you may use him as a witness in case anything goes wrong. This is once
you have got in bad, Mr. Patrick Enright, of New York."
The lawyer's face whitened, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair.
"You--you know me?"
"By reputation only," and Westcott bowed, "but that is scarcely to your
credit. I know this, however, that for various reasons you possess no
desire to advertise your presence in Haskell. It would be rather a
difficult matter to explain back in the city just what you were doing
out here in such intimate association with a chorus girl and a Bowery
gunman, let alone our immaculate friend, Lacy, yonder. The courts, I
believe, have not yet distributed the Cavendish money."
Enright's mouth was open, but no sound came from his lips; he seemed to
be gasping for breath.
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