“Pooh! Mr. Tuke. We have gone over our ground long and carefully. (Again I will be entirely open with you. Why should I not? If ever right justified might, it does in this business.) Do you fancy I am ignorant of the nature and capacity of your household?”
“True, true. Now, I am curious to know, Mr. Fern, how long you have been gathered here in this force?”
“Shall we put it at seventeen hours? When the snow increased we saw that Providence was set to favour the cause of justice, and we moved up here by twos and threes, and were all—thirteen of us, sir—assembled in the lodge by four o’clock of yesterday afternoon.”
“So ’twas the snow decided you?”
“Sir, I will own to you that we had thought originally to make a simpler finish of the matter; but your unexpected return from London disturbed our plans. However, all has worked for the best; for here we stand in our relations of besieged and besieging, as isolated as though we were vulture and deserted camel in the midst of Sahara. You see your position, Mr. Tuke. There is no hope of succour from any quarter. We have food and ammunition in abundance, and if we choose, we can batter your house about the ears of its two or three defenders. Already my strong fellows have been at work, cutting a path up the drive and beyond it, and they have accounted for one of your trumpery force. If you are wise, you will consent to treat. If you are humane, you will forbear to sacrifice to your vanity the lives of the unthinking few who serve you. And you have women there, Mr. Tuke—women, sir, women! They have a fashion of thinking death not the worst evil they can suffer.”
The captive, his heart blazing, saw the soul of this unspeakable ruffian revealed. He would have risked all and choked him with his hands, had these been free. As it was, he sought to play a sounder part by hiding his repulsion.
“Now, sir,” said the white-haired man very softly, “I put my proposal quite definitely—quite plainly, that there may be no mistaking it and no temporizing with it. I will exchange the person of Mr. Tuke for the stone that goes by the name of the ‘Lake of Wine,’ and, upon receipt of the latter, will withdraw my men and leave this neighbourhood for ever at peace.”
The other did not answer.
“You need not say,” went on Mr. Fern in the same quiet tone, “that you have not the jewel or any knowledge of its whereabouts. That were superfluous. I possess convincing evidence of its being concealed somewhere in your house. Pray do not trouble yourself or me with a denial.”
He paused for an answer. An acute observer might have noticed that his fingers twitched a little, as though they longed to tear out by the roots the confession he so suavely invited.