Page:Arthur Stringer - Gun Runner.djvu/125

 "To-night?" cried McKinnon, looking down at her in mingled protest and astonishment.

"Hush!" she warned, with her fingers held up close before his face. Their accidental contact with his lips sent a responsive thrill through his nervous body.

"But I won't hear of you doing this sort of thing just because I've been all kinds of a fool. I'm going to this man Duffy, or Ganley, or whatever his name is—I'm going to face him myself and make him put this whole thing right."

"That is impossible," she warned him in her tense whisper. "You do not understand. You don't know this man's ways."

He could see some definite yet mysterious fear shadowed on her face.

"But think of what you're threatening to do!" McKinnon argued. "You have to break into this brute's cabin and steal back a receipt! Think of the risk you'd be running!"

"It has to be done; the sooner it's done the better."

"But why does it have to be done in this way?" persisted McKinnon.

"Because you must not do it!"

"Why not?"

"It would be like cannonading canaries—you must save yourself for the bigger risks!"

Her unuttered misery, her inarticulate