"Mr. Monk can't help you there," I said calmly. "We'll see about that," said Striver, with an evil look.
"Of course. That is why I am here. Mr. Monk, would you mind giving me a cigar, please? I recommend one to you also, Striver. Smoking may soothe your nerves."
"Mind your own business."
"Oh, your nerves are my business, since they may lead you into making mischief. Thank you, Mr. Monk," I said, taking the cigar he passed me. "A light, please." I struck a match. "Now," I ended, when comfortably smoking, "let me hear all about it."
"All about what?" demanded Striver, annoyed by my coolness.
"About the means you propose to use in forcing Mr. Monk into supporting your preposterous desire to marry his daughter."
"He is guilty of my aunt's murder."
"It is a lie, a lie," cried Monk, sitting down and clasping his hands.
"Last time we had the pleasure of speaking together, Mr. Striver," I said easily, "you accused Miss Monk; now you assert her father to be the guilty person. On what grounds do you base your last accusation? I know those on which you base your first, and I told you to tell them to the police. Instead of doing this you attempt to coerce an old man. I had some sympathy with you, because you loved in vain; now I have none, as I think you are simply a scoundrel, using illegal means to accomplish the impossible."
"How dare you!"--he sprang to his feet with flashing eyes--"how----"