For this last bit of work Brokaw was crudely out of
place. His eyes, like a bad dog's, could not conceal what lay behind
them--hatred, a deep and intense desire to grip the throat of this man
who had tricked him; and his grin was forced, with a subdued sort of
malevolence about it. David smiled back.
"You _were_ drunk," he said. "I had a deuce of a time trying to make you
understand that I wasn't McKenna."
That amazing lie seemed for a moment to daze Brokaw. David realized the
audacity of it, and knew that Brokaw would remember too well what had
happened to believe him. Its effect was what he was after, and if he had
had a doubt as to the motive of the other's visit that doubt disappeared
almost as quickly as he had spoken. The grin went out of Brokaw's face,
his jaws tightened, the red came nearer to the surface in the bloodshot
eyes. As plainly as if he were giving voice to his thought he was
saying: "You lie!" But he kept back the words, and as David noted
carelessly the slow clenching and unclenching of his hands, he believed
that Hauck was not very far away, and that it was his warning and the
fact that he was possibly listening to them, that restrained Brokaw from
betraying himself completely.
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