He dreaded to think what the consequences might be, and again
became confused with the memories of his distressing dreams.
Three facts, however, were fastened upon his mind. He could not forget
Glover's singular glance at his roll of bank-notes,--the hesitation to
converse about the garrote,--nor the bottle of acid which would "wash away
anything." Would it wash away stains of blood?
The sounds of subdued conversation again arrested his attention. He
listened earnestly, but without changing his position.
"Speak softly," said a voice which he recognized as Glover's,--"speak
softly; you will wake my guest."
Then the words failed to reach him for a few moments. He strained his ears,
and hardly breathed, for fear of interrupting a syllable. Presently he was
able to distinguish a few sentences.
"Do you call this a profitable job?" said a strange voice.
"Oh, very fair,--worth about fifty dollars, I should guess. I wouldn't
undertake such a piece of work at a smaller chance," said Glover.
"Shall you cut the face?" said the other, after a minute's pause.
"Of course," was the answer; "it's the only way to do it handsomely."
"Hum!--what do you use? steel?"
"Steel, by all means."
"I shouldn't."
"I like it better; and I have a nice bit that has done service in this way
before."
From Lorrimer's brow exuded a deadly sudor. His heart ceased to palpitate.
His muscles became rigid; his eyes fixed. His terror was almost too great
for him to bear.
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