The increasing lawlessness of the house
filled her with dismay, and the coarse attentions of Gunn became more
persistent than ever. She took her meals in the sick-room, and divided
her time between that and her own.
Gunn himself was in a dilemma. With Mullet dead, his power was at an end
and his visions of wealth dissipated. He resolved to feather his nest
immediately, and interviewed the surgeon. The surgeon was ominously
reticent, the nurse cheerfully ghoulish.
"Four days I give him," she said, calmly; "four blessed days, not but
what he might slip away at any moment."
Gunn let one day of the four pass, and then, choosing a time when Joan
was from the room, entered it for a little quiet conversation. The
innkeeper's eyes were open, and, what was more to the purpose,
intelligent.
"You're cheating the hangman, after all," snarled Gunn. "I'm off to
swear an information."
The other, by a great effort, turned his heavy head and fixed his wistful
eyes on him.
"Mercy!" he whispered. "For her sake--give me--a little time!"
"To slip your cable, I suppose," quoth Gunn. "Where's your money?
Where's your hoard, you miser?"
Mullet closed his eyes. He opened them again slowly and strove to think,
while Gunn watched him narrowly. When he spoke, his utterance was thick
and labored.
"Come to-night," he muttered, slowly. "Give me--time--I will make your
--your fortune.
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