“Friday, I wonder that you should dare to assume such airs toward me—a man who with one word could destroy you!” he answered.
“Knave and coward that you are! Brute and demon as you are! you will not speak that word here!” she muttered, intensely, under her breath, as she fixed her blazing blue eyes upon him.
“There you go with your extravagant compliments again. You always were such a fascinating flatterer, Friday,” said the man, coolly taking up one of her spools of silk and unwinding and rewinding it. “But as to that ‘one word,’ I certainly shall whisper it into Abel Force’s ear, and also into the ears of that many-headed, mighty magician known to us all as ‘Our Reporter,’ when he shall come to me, notebook and lead pencil in hand, to interview me, and hear all the particulars, after the explosion shall be over.”
“And do you presume to suppose that you will be suffered to live after that?” demanded the lady.
“Possibly not. In which case somebody else would have to be interviewed; but that would not help your cause. Come, Friday; the only possible salvation for you will be your full agreement to my terms of silence.”
“Oh! you unmitigated villain!”
“Quite so. I am no halfway weakling, as you know perfectly well—for there are no secrets between us, Friday. You know, and therefore I need not remind you, that I never stop at any means to gain an end. I have an end in view just now. It is the price of my silence.”
“I wonder what new felonies you can possibly be meditating now?” bitterly demanded the lady, in spite of her fears.
“‘What new’—what was the word?”
“Felonies! you ruthless fiend!”