“Stop!” the man begged, piteously. “Stop!”
De Grost bowed.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
“Now tell me,” the man demanded, “what is your price? I have had money. There is not much left. Sophia is extravagant and traveling costs a great deal. But why do I weary you with these things?” he added. “Let me know what I have to pay for your silence.”
“I am not a blackmailer,” De Grost answered, sternly. “I am myself a wealthy man. I ask from you nothing in money—I ask you nothing in that way at all. A few words of information, and a certain paper, which I believe you have in your possession, is all that I require.”
“Information,” Hagon repeated, shivering.
“What I ask,” De Grost declared, “is really a matter of justice. At the time when you were the idol of all Russia and the leader of the great revolutionary party, you received funds from abroad.”
“I accounted for them,” Hagon muttered. “Up to a certain point I accounted for everything.”
“You received funds from the Government of a European power,” De Grost continued, “funds to be applied towards developing the revolution. I want the name of that Power, and proof of what I say.”
Hagon remained motionless for a moment. He had seated himself at the table, his head resting upon his hand and his face turned away from De Grost.