"You're right, they would," Hobson replied, approvingly; "but they are all dead."
"Were there no heirs left?"
"None whatever, more's the pity. However, I've got a good hold on these English chaps and will make them hand over the sovereigns yet."
The contempt which Scott had hitherto concealed as Hobson unfolded his plans was now plainly visible on his face as he rose from his chair.
"Don't hasten, my young friend," said Hobson, eagerly. "Sit down, sit down; we have not laid our plans yet."
"No, nor will we," was the reply. "If you think to make a cat's-paw of me in any of your dirty, contemptible pieces of work, you are mistaken. If you think that I came here with any intention of listening for one moment to any of your vile propositions, you are mistaken. I came here simply to satisfy myself on one point. My errand is accomplished, and I will remain no longer."
Hobson had sprung to his feet and now faced Scott, barring the way to the door, while fear, anger, defiance, and hate passed in rapid succession across his evil countenance, making his appearance more demon-like than ever.
"You lie!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper. "I have not given you one word of information!"
"No," Scott interrupted, "you have given me no information, and you could give me none, for the reason that I know more concerning this whole affair than you do. I also have knowledge of certain other matters regarding one Richard Hobson, alias Dick Carroll, and his London adventures."
Hobson's face had become a livid hue, and Scott detected a sudden movement of his right hand towards his desk.