"We'll allow for the moment that you are
right, Jack," said I. "At all events, you've made out a case.
But where do I come in? What's the part you propose for me in this
show? Pull yourself together and admit that I'm asking a sweetly
reasonable question."
"Didn't I explain?" Jack answered testily. "Surely I made it clear?
All I ask of you is to post me out from time to time the money I ask
for travelling expenses. . . . That doesn't compromise you, eh?
. . . Damn it all, Roddy," he exploded, "I counted you were my
friend to that extent!"
"That's all right, Jack," said I. "But a friend is one thing and an
accomplice is another. What's your game with Farrell? You haven't
told me yet, though you're asking what gives me the right to know."
He picked up his coat and hat and turned on me with a smile, very
faint and weary and a trifle absent-minded.
"To tell you the truth," said he, as if searching for something at
the back of his mind, "I haven't thought it out quite accurately.
It's near enough to warrant what preparations I'm making: but it
hasn't the shape of a clean proposition--which is the shape my
conscience demands.
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