"If I can take the risk, so can you," said Babbacombe.
"Oh, of course, I used to be rather good at that game. It is called
'sand-throwing' in the profession."
Babbacombe made an impatient movement, and West's hard smile became more
pronounced.
"But you are not at all good at it," he continued. "You are almost
obtrusively obvious. It is a charm that has its very material
drawbacks."
Babbacombe wholly lost patience at that. The man's grim irony was not to
be borne.
"Take it or leave it!" he exclaimed. "But if you leave it, in heaven's
name let it be for some sounder reason than a faked-up excuse of moral
weakness!"
West uttered an abrupt laugh. "You seem to have a somewhat exalted
opinion of my morals," he observed. "Well, since you are determined to
brave the risk of being let down, I needn't quibble at it any further. I
accept."
Babbacombe's attitude changed in an instant. He held out his hand.
"You won't let me down, West," he said, with confidence.
West hesitated for a single instant, then took the proffered hand into a
grip of iron. His blue eyes looked hard and straight into Babbacombe's
face.
"If I let you down," he said grimly, "I shall be underneath."