“Yes,” replied the financier, his expression unchanged. “She was governess to our children for a time. There were reasons which made us let her go. Why?”
That last sentence was the only hint of weakness. Stacey felt an evil exultation. However, his face was impassive. “I was told in confidence,” he observed quietly, “that she left of her own accord because you hid in her bathroom and otherwise persecuted her.”
A faint color showed on Mr. Jeffries’ high cheek-bones, and his eyes hardened until they became like polished steel, but when he spoke his tone was quiet and firm, as before. Stacey reluctantly admired him.
“That’s not a pretty story,” he said. “I shan’t even trouble to deny it. May I ask why you repeat it to me?”
“Because I intend to use it against you.”
Mr. Jeffries considered him fixedly. “That seemed to be what you were driving at. I could hardly believe that I understood your meaning correctly. We’ll waive all the moral aspects of such blackmail—”
“Yes, let’s!” said Stacey calmly.
Mr. Jeffries frowned at the insolence of the interruption. Only from a certain tautness in his face could Stacey perceive that he was very angry, so well did he keep himself under control. “Do you really fancy,” he demanded, his words like sharp staccato taps of a hammer, “that any one, any one of any account, in this city is going to believe such a story?”
“Not officially, of course,” Stacey replied. “Being the power you are, Mr. Jeffries, you could go out in the street and commit publicly almost any crime short of murder, and officially even the witnesses wouldn’t admit that you’d done it. But privately most people will love to believe such a story.”
“Do you believe it?”