He sank into a chair and looked up at her with a sardonic smile on his face.
"Yes, I'm back," he said. "I hurried back because Sir Stephen is going to sign the articles to-night, going to bring the thing to a conclusion."
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his hawk-like ones with a calm but keen watchfulness.
"And you? Have you—"
He leant forward, and held out one claw-like hand, open.
"Yes, I've got him fast and tight." His hand closed, and his eyes shot a swift, lurid gleam from under their half-lowered lids. "I've got him as in a vice; I've only to turn the screw and—I squeeze him as flat and dry as a lemon." She drew a long breath of satisfaction, of relief.
"You are clever!" she said. "And in one fortnight."
He smiled grimly.
"Yes; it is sharp work; and it has taken some doing—and some money.
But I've worked it. Black Steve—I mean Sir Stephen Orme, the great Sir
Stephen—is under my thumb. To-night, the night of his triumph, I am
going to crack him like an egg."
"You will ruin him?" she said.