“You’re on! And after supper, then we can fix up that mortgage, can’t we? I want to specify that now, so I can eat your salt without prejudice.”
“And now,” said Baca, replenishing his guest’s wine-glass, “about the blackmail. Of what particular misdeed do you accuse me?”
“When you asked me to supper,” said Jones thoughtfully, “you virtually admitted there was something. You see that? But I don’t like to intrude on your private affairs—to butt in, as we say in Harvard.”
The host fixed keen eyes on him.
“As we say in Harvard? Yes,” he purred. “Go on!”
“It is very distasteful to me. Instead of me naming your crime-or crimes—why could you not beg me to accept a suitable sum as a recognition of my good taste? Just as you please! It’s up to you.”
“As we say in Harvard!” suggested Baca lightly, lifting his brows with another piercing look.
“As we say in Harvard,” agreed Jones. “Any sum, so long as it comes to exactly two thousand. Or, you might use your influence to get Bennett to cancel my mortgage—that would be the same thing. He offered to cancel it once this afternoon—on a condition.”
“And that condition?”