"What do you mean?" said Harold, sharply.
"Not any scheme of mine; but a state of the facts resulting from the settlement of the estate made in 1729: state of the facts which renders your father's title and your own title to the family estates utterly worthless as soon as the claimant is made aware of his right."
"And you intend to inform him?"
"That depends. I am the only person who has the requisite knowledge. It rests with you to decide whether I shall use that knowledge against you; or whether I shall use it in your favor by putting an end to the evidence that would serve to oust you in spite of your 'robust title of occupancy.'"
Jermyn paused again. He had been speaking slowly, but without the least hesitation, and with a bitter definiteness of enunciation. There was a moment or two before Harold answered, and then he said abruptly—
"I don't believe you."
"I thought you were more shrewd," said Jermyn, with a touch of scorn. "I thought you understood that I had had too much experience to waste my time in telling fables to persuade a man who has put himself into the attitude of my deadly enemy."
"Well, then, say at once what your proofs are," said Harold, shaking in spite of himself, and getting nervous.
"I have no inclination to be lengthy. It is not more than a few weeks since I ascertained that there is in existence an heir of the Bycliffes, the old adversaries of your family. More curiously, it is only a few days ago—in fact, only since the day of the riot—that the Bycliffe claim has become valid, and that the right of remainder accrues to the heir in question."
"And how, pray?" said Harold, rising from his chair, and making a turn in the room, with his hands thrust in his pockets. Jermyn rose too, and stood near the hearth, facing Harold, as he moved to and fro.