A peculiar smile passed over Howell's face at Monk's last words.
"Go on, then," he said. "I must, at any rate, know what it is all about. I don't know that I have any business with Mr. Monk, the private detective,—for you are, I understand, no longer in the service of the police."
"What I am or am not has nothing to do with the case. You remember the diamond robbery at Mr. Frick's, in Christiania, six years ago? Well, by a shameful deception, you succeeded in throwing suspicion on Miss Frick. She is now my wife—"
The Englishman interrupted with a long, low whistle. Monk's face crimsoned, and for the moment I thought he would have thrown himself upon the rascal; but he continued quietly: "No, it is not necessary for you to fumble about in your drawer for the revolver. I am not so stupid as to give you an opportunity of shooting me in self-defence. It would suit you too well."
The Englishman uttered a horrible oath, and we heard a heavy object fall back into the drawer.
"Go on with your business, then," he shouted; "but I shall teach you what it costs to insult me on board my own yacht. Do you hear? Go on!"
I got the impression that his noisy anger was to a great extent assumed, and while Monk continued, he seemed to be listening to something quite different.
"We demand of you," said Monk, "that you give a full account of the deception which was practised on the occasion which I refer to and that you enable me to prove my wife's innocence."
"Yes, I'll give you a full account,—you may take your oath on that, you wretched police spy, trying to threaten a gentleman! You haven't yet mentioned how much money you intend to blackmail me for."
He got up and struck the table so that the cigar boxes and ash trays jumped about.