He did not try. One look at her sufficed to tell him that
Dale was baiting her, tantalizing her, mocking her, and Sanderson's
hatred for the man grew in intensity until it threatened to overwhelm
him.
There was in his mind an impulse to burst into the house and kill Dale
where he sat. It was the primitive lust to destroy an unprincipled
rival that had seized Sanderson, for he saw in Dale's eyes the bold
passion of the woman hunter.
However, Sanderson conquered the impulse. He fought it with the
marvelous self-control and implacable determination that had made him
feared and respected wherever men knew him, and in the end the faint,
stiff grin on his face indicated that whatever he did would be done
with deliberation.
This was an instance where the eavesdropper had some justification for
his work, and Sanderson listened.
He heard Dale laugh--the sound of it made Sanderson's lips twitch
queerly. He saw Mary cringe from Dale and press her hands over her
breast. Dale's voice carried clearly to Sanderson.
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