Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. I’ve got a lot of things to think about. But I can tell you who'll have the pleasure of hanging your father's son; and that's a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment—ha! ha!" As he said this, the door was opened, and Charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse Jewish features, and a long red beard. And it is not at all his affair. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. “You are late,” she murmured.
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