he could bear. He let down the window with a jerk.
"By the way, congratulations—hearty congratulations." The husky wheeze floating across the compartment seemed to grow more virile. "A lucky—a very lucky fellow. I hope you know—but of course, you do know—what a prize—an altogether exceptional prize—you have drawn in the lottery."
Endor returned icy thanks. With all the aristocrat's power of defending himself at close quarters, he began to feel that the man opposite was too much for him.
"Of course,"—the Colossus was almost like a kitten with a skein of wool—"I shall always owe you a grudge for stealing her from me."
Gentle, half amused as were the words, behind them was a glint of steel. Endor, in spite of a disciplined will, could not resist its challenge.
"Not quite a pretty way of putting it," he said. And there was a nip in his voice.
"Rien qui blesse comme la verité." The laugh of the Colossus had now a singular lack of music. "Helen Sholto was my right hand, my other self almost. She understood my ways. I don't know what I shall do without her."
Endor had only a conventional regret to offer for having robbed his enemy of so rare a treasure. He may have felt that the note of lamentation was pitched dangerously high, or again, knowing this man for what he was, he may have been seeking a motive behind it.
