“You can cut that sarcasm right out, Oberzohn,” he said, and, without preamble: “I’m going to marry that girl.”
Oberzohn said nothing to this.
“She’s not engaged; she’s got no love affairs at all. Joan told me, and Joan is a pretty shrewd girl. I don’t know how I’m going to fix it, but I guess the best thing I can do is to pretend that I am a real friend and get her out of your cellar. She’ll be so grateful that maybe she will agree to almost anything. Besides, I think I made an impression the first time I saw her. And I’ve got a position to offer her, Oberzohn: a house in the best part of London——”
“My house,” interrupted Oberzohn’s metallic voice.
“Your house? Well, our house, let us say. We’re not going to quarrel about terms.”
“I also have a position to offer her, and I do not offer her any other man’s.”
Oberzohn was looking at him wide-eyed, a comical figure; his elongated face seemed to stand out in the gloom like a pantomime mask.
“You?” Monty could hardly believe his ears.
“I, Baron Eruc Oberzohn.”
“A baron, are you?” The room shook with Monty’s laughter. “Why, you damned old fool, you don’t imagine she’d marry you, do you?”