"Then have a revolver with you," snapped the old man. "I don't want a scandal and a row on Ida's birthday, and in my house."
"It seems to me that you are going the best way to have one," said Vernon deliberately; "much better let me inform the police and have the thing done in an orderly fashion."
"No, I tell you." Dimsdale again slapped the table. "I'll do it my own way or not at all. If I catch the beast by laying this trap, both myself and Mrs. Bedge and many other people will be safe. But if we call in the police, however secretly, The Spider--who seems to have ears and eyes all over him--will get wind of the ambush."
Vernon nodded. "There's something in that," he assented. "Perhaps on those grounds it will be better that we should engineer the job together. Well," he stood up straight and slim, "I shall come here on the night of the ball--by the way, when does it take place?"
"Monday week. It's a short notice, but Ida only thought yesterday of this way to celebrate her birthday."
"Are you quite sure," asked Vernon, taking up his tall hat, "that it is advisable to lay this trap on the night of the ball?"
"Yes, I do; yes, I do," said Dimsdale in a fussy manner. "The mere idea of masks, which will enable the scoundrel to hide his infernal face without comment, will recommend itself to him. He will think that he is exceptionally safe, not dreaming that I intend to fight."
"You will fight, then?"
"Am I not laying a trap into which he will walk?" inquired Dimsdale with much exasperation. "Of course I fight, as my secret is not such a very bad one. I can defend myself, and I am willing to risk that being known which I had rather were kept silent, for the sake of saving other people from being blackmailed by the beast. Eh, what? Am I not right?"
"Yes, I think you are. But I wish you would tell me your secret."