"You lie!" he cried.

"Do you hear! You lie! I tell you, you lie!" Jimmie Dale's lips parted ominously.
"Sit down!" he gritted between his teeth.
The white in Carling's face had turned to gray, his lips were working--mechanically he sank down again in his chair.
Jimmie Dale still leaned over the desk, resting his weight on his right elbow, the automatic in his right hand covering Carling.
"You cur!" whispered Jimmie Dale.

"There's just one reason, only one, that keeps me from putting a bullet through you while you sit there.
We'll get to that in a moment.

There is that little story first--shall I tell it to you now?
For the past four years, and God knows how many before that, you've gone the pace.

The lavishness of this bachelor establishment of yours is common talk in New York--far in excess of a bank cashier's salary.