"Yes, Mr. Beverley."
"To pay—whatever he may owe, both principal and interest."
"Indeed, Mr. Beverley! And—his name?"
"His name is Ronald Barrymaine."
"Ronald—Barrymaine!" There was a pause between the words, and the smooth, soft voice had suddenly grown so harsh, so deep and vibrant, that it seemed incredible the words could have proceeded from the lips of the motionless figure lolling in the chair with his face in the shadow and the knife glittering behind him.
"I have made out to you a draft for more than enough, as I judge, to cover Mr. Barrymaine's liabilities."
"For how much, sir?"
"Twenty-two thousand pounds."
Then Jasper Gaunt stirred, sighed, and leaned forward in his chair.
"A handsome sum, sir,—a very handsome sum, but—" and he smiled and shook his head.