Читать книгу The Man Who Lost Himself онлайн

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“Oh, won’t she?” said Jones. “This is most interesting.” He felt a great uplift of the heart. So this blackmail business had to do with a woman. The idea that Rochester was some horrible form of criminal had weighed upon him. It had seemed to him that no man would pay such a huge sum as eight thousand pounds in the way of blackmail unless his crime were in proportion. Rochester had evidently paid it to shield not only his own name, but the name of a woman.

“Most interesting,” said Voles. “I’m glad you think so—” Then in a burst, “Come, open that door and stop this nonsense—take that key out of your pocket and open the door. You always were a fool, but this is beyond folly—the pair of you are in the hollow of my hand, you know it—I can crush you like that—like that—like that!”

He opened and shut his right hand. A cruel hand it was, hairy as to the back, huge as to the thumb.

Jones looked at him.

“You are wasting a lot of muscular energy,” said he. “My determination is made, and it holds. You are going to prison, Mr. Filthy Beast, Voles. I’m up against you, that’s the plain truth. I’m going to cut you open, and show your inside to the British Public. They’ll be so lost in admiration at the sight, they won’t bother about the woman or me. They’ll call us public benefactors, I reckon. You know men, and you know when a man is determined. Look at me, look at me in the face, you sumph—”