“And as regards terms? I really don’t feel in the least anxious to make my final bow with so little notice,” De Grost said. “To tell you the truth, I have been finding life quite interesting lately.”
Bernadine eyed his prisoner keenly. Such absolute composure was in itself disturbing. He was, for the moment, aware of a slight sensation of uneasiness, which his common sense, however, speedily disposed of.
“There are two ways,” he announced, “of dealing with an opponent. There is the old-fashioned one—crude, but in a sense eminently satisfactory—which sends him finally to adorn some other sphere.”
“I don’t like that one,” De Grost interrupted. “Get on with the alternative.”
“The alternative,” Bernadine declared, “is when his capacity for harm can be destroyed.”
“That needs a little explanation,” De Grost murmured.
“Precisely. For instance, if you were to become absolutely discredited, I think that you would be effectually out of my way. Your people do not forgive.”
“Then discredit me, by all means,” De Grost begged. “It sounds unpleasant, but I do not like your callous reference to the river.”
Bernadine gazed at his ancient opponent for several moments. After all, what was this but the splendid bravado of a beaten man, who is too clever not to recognize defeat?
“I shall require,” he said, “your code, the keys of your safe, which contains a great many documents of interest to me, and a free entry into your house.”