Presently he heard Storch’s voice coming to his ears out of a friendly dusk: 

“It’s nine-thirty...I guess we had better be moving.”

He did not stir at first...he merely sat staring at Storch, very much as a man waking suddenly and not yet alive to the precise details of his environment.  “Moving...where?” he finally inquired.

Storch crumpled the newspaper in his hand viciously.  “Come...you’ve been dreaming!” he flung out.  “That’s dangerous!”

Fred braced himself in his chair.  “I’m not going,” he said, quietly.  “I’ve changed my mind!”

Storch’s mouth widened, not in a smile this time, but in a vicious snarl.  He took out a cheap watch from his pocket, glanced at it, and put it back.

“It’s just twenty-five minutes to ten,” he said, quietly.  “I’ll give you five more minutes.”

Fred put both his arms upon the cluttered table, leaning forward, as he answered: 

“Nothing can alter my decision now, Storch...  You should have known better than to have counted on one of my sort...In the end, you see, my standards have shackled me.”

“Counted on your sort!” Storch laughed back, sarcastically.  “Do you suppose for one moment that I ever count on anyone?...  I like a game of chance ... that’s why I chose you.  I like to triumph in spite of a poor hand ... and you have been in some ways the poorest deal I’ve ever risked a play on.  But if I’d gotten you I’d have chuckled to my dying day ... even in spite of the fact that it would have shattered all my theories.  I catch my fish upon the lowest and highest tides ... slack water never yields much.”

He was rising to his feet.  His face was a placid mask, but his voice dripped venom.  Fred matched his movements with equal quiet.

“Still you did have hopes for me,” Fred threw at him in grim raillery.  “I may have been the poorest prospect, but I have been the most uncertain also...  You might just as well admit that.”

He saw Storch’s eyes widen at the arrogance of this unexpected thrust.

“Slack water is always uncertain,” Storch replied, “unless you know which turn in the tide is to follow.”

They stood gazing at each other for a fraction of time, which seemed eternity.  And in that swift and yet prolonged exchange of glances Fred Starratt read Storch’s purpose completely...

There followed a moment of swift action in which Storch made a clipt movement toward his hip pocket, and in a trice Fred Starratt felt himself bear quickly down upon the shattered lamp, grasp it firmly in his two hands, and bring it crashing against Storch’s upflung forehead.

He was not conscious of seeing Storch crumple over, but he felt a thud shake the cluttered room to its foundations...  He went over quietly and closed the open door.  Then he put on his hat.  Storch lay quite still and an ugly red pool was already luring flies to a crimson feast.  The floor was covered with bits of shattered glass glistening in the sun.