"Don't—please, don't be melodramatic," the Count drawled. "Would you not kill a rat that ate your corn? Would you not shoot any kind of vermin that infested your house? Well, Riggleton is vermin, human vermin if you like, but still vermin, and he is not fit to live. If I, Romanoff, were in your position, I would have no more hesitation in putting him out of existence than your gamekeeper would have in shooting a dog with rabies. But, then, I am not in your position. I have nothing to gain. I only take a friendly interest in you. I have hurried to you with all speed the moment I knew of your danger, and I have told you how you can rid the world of a coarse, dirty-minded animal, and at the same time save for yourself the thing nearest your heart."
"Did he come in the same vessel with you?"
"Suffice to say that I know he is in England, and in safe keeping."
"Where? How? England has laws to protect everyone."
"That does not matter. I will tell you if you like; but you would be none the wiser."
"Then you have arranged this?"
"If you like—yes."
"But why?"
"Still the same silly question. Have you no sense of proportion, Faversham? Haven't I told you again and again?"
Dick was almost gasping for breath, and as he buried his head in his hands, he tried to understand, to realise. In calmer moments his mind would doubtless have pierced the cheap sophistry of the Count, and discarded it. But, as I have said, he was greatly excited, bewildered. Never as now did he desire wealth. Never as now had the thought of winning Lady Blanche seemed the great thing in life to be hoped for. And he knew the Count was right—knew that without his money she would no more think of marrying him than of marrying the utmost stranger. And yet his heart craved after her. He longed to possess her—to call her his own. He saw her as he had never seen her before, a splendid creature whose beauty outshone that of any woman he had ever seen, as the sun outshone the moon.