“Then no one but you two know so far?” he asked, a shifty, sly look passing over his face.
Merriman read his thoughts and bluffed again.
“Yes and no,” he answered. “No one but we two know at present. On the other hand, we have naturally taken all reasonable precautions. Hilliard prepared a full statement of the matter which we both signed, and this he sent to his banker with a request that unless he claimed it in person before the given date, the banker was to convey it to Scotland Yard. If anything happens to me here, Hilliard will go at once to the Yard, and if anything happens to him our document will be sent there. And in it we have suggested that if either of us disappear, it will be equivalent to adding murder to the other charges made.”
It was enough. Mr. Coburn sat, broken and completely cowed. To Merriman he seemed suddenly to have become an old man. For several minutes silence reigned, and then at last the other spoke.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, in a tremulous voice, hardly louder than a whisper.
Merriman’s heart leaped.
“To consider your daughter, Mr. Coburn,” he answered promptly. “All I want is to marry Madeleine, and for her sake I want you to get out of this thing before the crash comes.”
Mr. Coburn once more wiped the drops of sweat from his forehead.
“Good lord!” he cried hoarsely. “Ever since it started I have been trying to get out of it. I was forced into it against my will and I would give my soul if I could do as you say and get free. But I can’t—I can’t.”
He buried his head in his hands and sat motionless, leaning on his desk.