"He is, but what then?"
"He must know; he must. He is not an idiot, I suppose?"
"No; he is cunning with a low kind of cunning—the cunning of a sensual beast. Some would say he is clever."
"Then he must find out the truth."
"Not if you say he must not."
"What have I to do with it?"
"Everything," and Romanoff's eyes seemed to be searching into Dick's innermost soul.
"But how? I do not understand," and he nervously wiped his moist hands.
"Say so, and he must be got rid of."
"How?"