Young Campe regarded the speaker attentively.
“Well?” said he.
The long fingers of Ashton-Kirk pattered upon the edge of the table; he met the gaze of the other with steady eye.
“In such cases,” said he, “comparison usually figures very strongly. Some danger threatens a man. But he fears to appeal for help. Why? Because the thing which threatens is as nothing compared with another thing which a call for help might expose.”
Scanlon saw the peaked face of young Campe twitch, but the intent look never left his eyes.
“What more?” asked he.
“And yet it may be,” said Ashton-Kirk, “that this hidden thing may be none of the endangered person’s doing. A demand may be made upon him by those threatening him, which he may be unable to meet.”
“Well?” said the young man again, and Scanlon noticed that his voice trembled a little.
“Suppose,” said the crime specialist, “a wealthy family fell into hard days. Suppose the head of that family, in a moment of weakness, allowed himself to be approached by—well, we’ll say—a criminal organization. Let us further suppose that after he had gone into a shady matter pretty deeply, his position suddenly and legitimately mended, and in consequence he washed his hands of all crooked dealing.”
“Go on,” said young Campe, and his face was pale as death.