"I don't see why I should," and Dick's voice was a little angry. He instinctively disliked Tony Riggleton.
"I do, though. Why, Bidlake hasn't been gone half an hour. Hopper has just told me."
Dick was silent. He did not see at the moment what there was for him to say.
"You guess why I'm here?" he went on.
"I'm not good at guessing." Dick felt that Riggleton had the whip hand of him, and while he did not intend to make any concessions to his whilom cousin, he felt sure what the upshot of their meeting would be.
"Oh, I say, Faversham," and Riggleton moved farther into the room, "it's no use taking the high hand with me. Of course I don't blame you, and naturally you're cut up. Anyone would be in your place. But there's nothing green about me. All this show belongs to me, and I mean to finger the coin. That's straight. Mind, I've come down here in a friendly way, and I don't want to be unreasonable. See? I'm old Faversham's heir. Old Bidlake was obliged to own it, although he wriggled like a ferret in a hole. I can see, too, that you're a bit of a swell, and would suit his book better than I can; but I can make the money go. Don't you make any mistake."
He laughed as he spoke, and made a pretence of re-lighting his cigar.
"Come now," he went on, "let's have a bottle of champagne, and then we can talk over things quietly."
"There's nothing to talk over as far as I can see," interposed Dick.
"What do you mean by that?" In spite of his assertive attitude, he did not appear at ease, and was constantly casting furtive and suspicious glances towards Dick.