“A criminal prosecution would be practically inevitable—after such a disclosure,” Plowden reminded him, with augmented severity of tone.
“Don't mix the two things up,” the other urged. There seemed to the listener to be supplication in the voice. “It's the action of the Committee that you said you could influence. That's what we were talking about. You say there will be a special meeting at noon tomorrow——
“I said there could be one,” Plowden corrected him.
“All right. There CAN be one. And do you say that there can be proof,—proof against me of fraud,—produced at that meeting?”
“Yes—I say that,” the nobleman affirmed, quietly.
“And further still—do you say that it rests with you whether that proof shall be produced or not?”
Lord Plowden looked into the impassive, deep-eyed gaze which covered him, and looked away from it again. “I haven't put it in just that form,” he said, hesitatingly. “But in essentials—yes, that may be taken as true.”
“And what is your figure? How much do you want for holding this proof of yours back, and letting me finish scooping the money of your Hebrew friends Aronson and Rostocker?”
The peer raised his head, and shot a keenly enquiring glance at the other. “Are they my friends?” he asked, with challenging insolence.
“I'm bound to assume that you have been dealing with them, just as you are dealing with me.” Thorpe explained his meaning dispassionately, as if the transaction were entirely commonplace. “You tell them that you're in a position to produce proof against me, and ask them what they'll give for it. Then naturally enough you come to me, and ask what I'll be willing to pay to have the proof suppressed. I quite understand that I must bid against these men—and of course I take it for granted that, since you know their figure, you've arranged in your mind what mine is to be. I quite understand, too, that I am to pay more than they have offered. That is on account of 'friendly interest.'”