"Blackmail," was my instant conclusion: and my line of conduct was as promptly taken. There is but one way to take with blackmailers—crush them.
"Did you understand what I said just now? I am sick of you and your ways, and I have done with you."
The man shifted about uneasily and nervously without replying at once, and then in a sly, muttering tone, and with an indescribable suggestion of menace said:—
"There are some ugly stories afloat, Lieutenant."
"Yes: and in Russia, those who tell them smell the atmosphere of a gaol as often as those against whom they are told. A word from me and you know where you will be within half a dozen hours." This was a safe shot with such a rascal.
"But you'll never speak that word," he said sullenly. "We've talked all this over before. You can't shake me off. I know too much."
Obviously my former self had handled this man badly: probably through weakness: and had allowed him to get an ugly hold. He was presuming on this now.
I took two rapid turns up and down the room in thought. Then I made a decision. Taking ink and paper I sat down to the table and wrote, repeating the words aloud:—
"To the Chief of Police.—The Bearer of this——"
"How do you spell your rascally name?" I cried, interrupting the writing and looking across at him.