Maitland had to force a way through a crowded doorway,
where the night-watchman was holding forth in aggrieved incoherence on the
cruel treatment he had suffered at the hands of the lawbreakers. A phrase
came to Maitland's ears as he shouldered through the group.
"....grabbed me an' trun me outer the cage, inter the hall, an' then
the shootin' begins, an' I jumps down-stairs t' the sixteent' floor...."
Bannerman opened dull eyes as Maitland entered, and smiled faintly.
"Ah-h, Maitland," he gasped; "thought you'd ... come."
Racked with sorrow, nothing guessing of the career that had brought the
lawyer to this pass, Maitland slipped into a chair by the head of the
couch and closed his hand over Bannerman's chubby, icy fingers.
"Poor, poor old chap!" he said brokenly. "How in Heaven--"
But at Bannerman's look the words died on his lips. The lawyer moved
restlessly. "Don't pity me," he said in a low tone. "This is what I might
have ... expected, I suppose ... man of Anisty's stamp ... desperate
character ... it's all right, Dan, my just due...."
"I don't understand, of course," faltered Maitland.
Bannerman lay still a moment, then continued: "I know you don't. That's
why I sent for you.... 'Member that night at the Primordial? When the
deuce was it? I ... can't think straight long at a time.... That night I
dined with you and touched you up about the jewels? We had a bully salad,
you know, and I spoke about the Graeme affair.
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