For an instant Jekyl hesitated what course to follow. It might be that Norwood really knew something of great importance. It might be that his discovery was valueless. And yet, if it concerned Kate in any way, the information would be all-important, his great game being to make her a princess, and yet preserve such an ascendancy over her as would render her his own slave.
“She's a strange girl, that Dalton,” said Norwood. “I wish she had about forty thousand pounds.”
“She may have more than that yet, my Lord,” said Jekyl, dryly.
“How do you mean, Jekyl? Is there any truth in that story about the Irish property? Has she really a claim on the estate? Tell me all you know, old fellow, and I 'll be on the square with you throughout.”
Jekyl, who in his remark had darkly alluded to the prospect of Kate's marriage with Midchekoff, now saw that Norwood had totally misconceived his meaning, and like a shrewd tactician, determined to profit by the blunder.
“Come, Jekyl, be frank and aboveboard. What are her prospects?”
“Better than I have told you, my Lord,” replied he, coolly. “If I cannot—for I am not at liberty to explain why—I am quite ready to pledge my word of honor to the truth of what I say, or, what your Lordship will think more of, to back my opinion by a bet.”
“By Jove! that is news!” said the Viscount, leaning his head on the chimney to reflect. “You are such a slippery dog, Master Jekyl, you have so many turnings and windings in you, one is never quite sure with you; but supposing now, for argument's sake, that one thought of making this fair damsel a peeress, is there no hitch in the affair no screw loose that one ought to look to?”
“In her birth, my Lord?”
“No; d—n her birth! I mean about the tin.”