“Lady Grace’s, eh?” said Percy.
Spenser Churchill laughed softly.
“My dear Percy, never despise women. They may be fools—I fear they generally are—but they are, oh, they are so useful! Without Lady Grace I could have done little or nothing; but she was really invaluable. Cecil—dear Cecil—was always suspicious of me; but, of course, he trusted Lady Grace, and she and I between us caught him. ‘Caught him’ is the only expression applicable! To this day he considers himself under an obligation to her which only marriage can repay.” He laughed. “Poor Cecil; I can’t help pitying him; for between you and me, my dear Percy, I’d rather marry a tigress than beautiful Lady Grace! But don’t let us talk of him or her. Let us talk of ourselves. The whole thing has gone splendidly, though I say it. Providence, my dear Percy,” and he turned up his eyes, “has been on our side. The dear marquis—how surprised he would be if he knew this true story I have revealed to you!—is lying in a senseless and utterly incapable condition in London; Cecil and Lady Grace are going to be, if they are not already, married; and you—you, my dear Percy, are the happy husband of Lady Mary, the daughter of the Marquis of Stoyle! Think of it! Realize it, and oh, my dear Percy, make it twenty instead of the ten thousand you agreed upon! Here are the papers. They are at your service; indeed, I consider that they belong to you——”
He pushed the papers across the table, smiling with oily triumph and satisfaction, and Percy Levant leaned forward to take them, when a thin, wasted hand clutched them clawlike and a harsh, strained voice said:
“No! They are mine!”
Percy Levant sank back into his chair, and wiped the perspiration from his brow; but Spenser Churchill sprang from his seat, and grabbed at the papers mechanically. Then, as he encountered the piercing eyes fixed upon him, he, too, sank back, and, in a terrified voice, gasped:
“The marquis!”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
FOILED.
“The marquis!” gasped Spenser Churchill, and he sank back, still staring at the haggard and wasted face, from which the piercing eyes glared down at him like ardent coals, with a fearful, horrified gaze.