"Under strikingly different conditions!" pursued Carl reminiscently.
There was a disappointing lack of interest in the other's face.
"Even that is possible," assented the foreigner stiffly, "Environment
is a shifting circumstance of many colors. The honor of your
acquaintance, however, I fear is not mine."
Carl's eyes, dark and cold as agate, compelled attention.
"My name," said he deliberately, "is Granberry, Carl Westfall
Granberry."
The brief interval of silence was electric.
"It is a pity," said the other formally, "that the name is unfamiliar.
Monsieur Granberi, the storm increases. My ill-fated car, I take it,
requires no further attention." He stopped short, staring with
peculiar intentness at the road beyond. In the faint sputtering glow
of the embers by the wayside his face looked white and strained.
A slight smile dangerously edged the American's lips. With a careless
feint of glancing over his shoulder, he tightened every muscle and
leaped ahead. The violent impact of his body bore his victim, cursing,
to the ground.
"Ah!" said Carl wresting a revolver from the other's hand, "I thought
so! My friend, when you try a trick like that again, guard your hands
before you fall to staring. A fool might have turned--and been shot in
the back for his pains, eh? Monsieur," he murmured softly, pinioning
the other with his weight and smiling insolently, "we've a long ride
ahead of us.
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