His request was granted instantly.
"Now walk into the other room."
They passed into the stock room, which was well lighted. The windows
were covered with heavy paper; the long table was cleared and moved
out from its place near the wall.
Dick closed the door and pointed to the table. "Lay your gun there.
Be careful," as Whitley drew his revolver. Jim glanced once at the
determined eyes and steady hand of his master and sullenly obeyed.
"Now sit down."
Crossing the room, he seated himself in the chair indicated, which
placed him in the full glare of the light. Dick took the other chair
facing him, with the long table between them. Placing his weapon beside
the other, within easy reach of his hand, he rested his elbows on the
table and looked long and steadily at the man before him.
Whitley was uneasy. "Well," he said at last, when he could bear the
silence no longer. "I hope you like my looks."
"Your figure is somewhat heavier, but shaving off your beard has made
you look some years younger," replied Dick, dryly.
The other started to his feet.
"Don't be uneasy," said Dick, softly resting his hand on one of the
revolvers; "keep your seat please."
"I never wore a beard," said the other, as he dropped back on his
chair. "You are mistaken."
"Then how did you know the meaning of my note, and why did you answer
it in person. You should have sent the right man."
Whitley saw that he had betrayed himself but made one more effort.
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