While he read, the look of resentment vanished from his face and a complacent smile rose to his full, sensuous lips.
"Il n'y pas à dire," he murmured; "c'est très, très bien."
When he had finished reading he looked up at Peter.
"Now then, Monsieur Blakeney," he said curtly, "your last price?"
"I have told you, sir—the title-deeds of Kis-Imre."
"You are joking."
"I was never more serious in my life."
"But, hang it all, man, if I make the property over to you, how are we to get rid of the Imreys?"
Peter shrugged his shoulders, and, still smiling, said coolly: "That, Excellency, is your affair, not mine."
"But the Countess Imrey is your aunt."