There was something in Keudell's face, as he stood facing her, which sent a distinct wave of apprehension through that watchful-eyed young woman. It was not merely the face of a braggart and bully. It was the face of an aggressively determined man, who, for reasons that could not be fathomed, found himself confronted by his last resource. There was no longer mere belligerency about the grim lines of the mouth. There was something strangely like desperation itself. It suggested a final abandonment to a course which could no longer be evaded, a final comprehension of consequences which, however grave they might prove, now had to be unflinchingly faced. Something deep within Sadie Wimpel's unanalytical little soul convinced her of the fact that Keudell was at the end of his rope, and being at the end of his rope, was no longer going to be satisfied with half measures.
Then her eyes followed Keudell's figure as he stepped closer to the sullen-faced Dorgan. Dorgan, she knew, was not subtle. Yet, on the other hand, he was not easily intimidated.
"You can't hold me up this way!" he rebelliously announced, with his one unbandaged eye blinking
