Major Jones collapsed. He looked at Ruff as one might look at a man who has taken leave of his senses. Yet underneath it all was the coward’s fear!
“What are you talking about, man?” he exclaimed. “What do you mean? Lower your voice, for heaven’s sake! Consider my position here! Some one might overhear! If this is a joke, let me tell you that it’s a d——d foolish one!”
Peter Ruff raised his eyebrows.
“I do not wish,” he said, “to create a disturbance—my manner of coming here should have assured you of that. At the same time, business is business. I hold a warrant for your arrest, and I am forced to execute it.”
“Do you mean that you are a detective, then?” Major Jones demanded.
He was a big man, but his voice seemed to have grown very small indeed.
“Naturally,” Peter Ruff answered. “I should not come here without authority.”
“What is the charge?” the other man faltered.
“Blackmail,” Peter Ruff said slowly. “The information against you is lodged by Sir Richard Dyson.”
It seemed to Peter Ruff, who was watching his companion closely, that a wave of relief passed over the face of the man who sat cowering in his chair. He certainly drew a little gasp—stretched out his hands, as though to thrust the shadow of some fear from him. His voice, when he spoke, was stronger. Some faint show of courage was returning to him.