“Perhaps, then, you will oblige me by communicating them,” she hastened to reply. “For it happens I have made arrangements to leave here this very day—or to-morrow at latest.”
“Those arrangements you will have the trouble of cancelling, then.”
“Indeed! And may I ask why?”
“Certainly. Your appearance here yesterday is going to supply the weapon I have been working to forge for years. Nothing is now wanting to complete the chain. Yours is the hand that shall do so. To that end you will remain here—as long as I require your presence.”
“That is a very odd turn for events to take—that you should require my presence,” she said, with a bitter sneer.
“Very. In fact, the irony of the situation is unique. And yet there are people who say there is no such thing as poetic justice.”
“But now, suppose you begin by giving one some idea as to the nature of this wonderful plan of yours. I take for granted it is for nobody’s good, anyhow.”
“You are wrong there. It will tend most distinctly to the good of two people. And—calm your amazement—one of those people is yourself.”
“Your warning is wholly needed. The idea that any action of yours could tend to my advantage is sufficient to justify the wildest amazement, were there room for any other emotion than complete incredulity,” she answered, with a scornful smile.
“You shall see directly. But, first of all, let me congratulate you on the extremely fascinating appearance of—your daughter. It really does you the greatest credit—”