"That is a lie," he said, hoarsely. "The views of Mr. Farrington were as well known to me as they are to you—better, if that is your interpretation of them."
"And they were?" asked the Count, curiously.
"I decline to discuss the matter with you," said Frank. "I want only to tell you this. If by chance I discover that you are working against me by your lies or your cunning, I will make you very sorry that you ever came into my life."
"Allow me to show you the door," said Count Poltavo. "People of my race and of my family are not usually threatened with impunity."
"Your race I pretty well know," said Frank, coolly; "your family is a little more obscure. If it is necessary for me to go any farther into the matter, and if I am so curious that I am anxious for information, I shall know where to apply."
"And where will that be?" asked the Count softly, his hand upon the door.
"To the Governor of Alexandrovski Prison," said Frank.
The Count closed the door behind his visitor, and stood for some moments in thought.
It was a depressed little party which assembled an hour later in the drawing-room of the Brakely Square house. To the Count's annoyance, Frank was one of these, and he had contrived to secure a place near the sad-faced girl and engage her in conversation. The Count did not deem it advisable at this particular moment to make any attempt to separate them: he was content to wait.
T. B. Smith was there.