He could not gauge Storri; he would have felt safer had that nobleman been an American or an Englishman.

Storri was so loaded of alarming contradictions; he could so snarl and purr, threaten and promise, beam and glower, smile and frown, and all in the one moment of time! Mr.Harley could not read a spirit so perverse and in such perpetual head-on collision with itself! Nor could he, being fear-blind, see that in most, if not all of these, Storri was acting.

If Mr.Harley had realized what a joy it was to Storri to frighten him, the knowledge might have made for his peace of mind.

As it was, he looked upon Storri as at the best half mad, and capable, in some beckoning moment of caprice, of any lunatic move that should level the worst against him.
Mr.Harley had one hope, and that rested with Northern Consolidated.

If he could stand off disaster until the raid on Northern Consolidated had been made, and the profits, namely the road, were in their hands, he might then arrange a permanent truce.