“Now, my dear young lady,” Trask began, unheeding her look of aversion, “you may as well understand me first as last. I’ve got the whip hand—or, as that isn’t a very graceful expression, let us say, I hold the trumps. I know all about you, you see. I know why you went to the doctor’s library that night, and—I know what happened there.”
“You don’t,” said Anita, coolly. “You’re bluffing, and I know it.”
“No, I’m not bluffing—not entirely, anyway. True, there are some things I don’t know yet, but—I soon will! Don’t think you can keep anything from me! I’m going to take a week for investigation. Also, to give you your chance. If I find out what I fully expect to find out I shall make it all public—how will you like that?”
A great fear showed in Anita’s eyes, and she murmured, brokenly:
“Don’t—oh, Mr. Trask, don’t!”
“Hah! Scared, are you? I thought you’d be! Now, you know my price. You marry me—promise to marry me, that is, and I’ll get you through this thing with bells on. No shadow of suspicion shall remain attached to you—or, to any one you care for.”
“I heard you were not going to rest until you learned who killed Doctor Waring,” Anita temporized.
“Yes, yes; but that was before I saw you. Now, I don’t care if you have killed half the people in Corinth, I want you all the same. You’ve bewitched me. You, a silly little slip of a girl, with no particular claim to beauty, except your big, mournful eyes, and your peach of a mouth! I’ll bring the smiles to that sad little face. Oh, Anita, I’m not a brute, and I do love you so. Give up your foolish fancy for Lockwood, for it is only a passing attraction. And he hasn’t any money, and he’s deeply in debt, and oh, I’m a thousand times a better catch!”
“If you knew how you damaged your cause by talking like that—” the girl began, her eyes cold with scorn.
“Then I won’t talk like that,” Trask said, humbly. “Only take me, Anita, and you can make me over to suit yourself. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll read the books you want me to, I’ll get cultured and refined—and all that.”