CHAPTER 14Mr. Pinkerton, wiping the cold perspiration from his forehead with his purple handkerchief, his hand shaking a little and his head still extremely dizzy, watched Lady Atwater clinging to her son, or perhaps, he thought, only shrinking a little from the well-meaning attempts of her daughter-in-law to shield her from the goggling eyes of the townspeople, go quickly up the stairs. Bull’s eye followed her thoughtfully. He then turned back to Harry Ogle.
“Well,” he said.
Ogle’s eyes were curiously bright, almost, Mr. Pinkerton thought, as if he’d taken a drug, and on his face there was an expression of intense excitement, almost, that made Mr. Pinkerton stare.
“What do you want with me now?” he said, almost hysterically. “You’re not as clever as you think you are. A wife can’t be m
