"Any answer, sir?"
He looked towards a pen which lay on the table before him. Why should he not send back an acceptance?
"I say," said Riggleton, "is that about the estate? Because if it is, I demand to see it."
His tone was loud and arrogant. The sight of the telegram had evidently aroused his suspicions and his desire to assert his mastery.
"Oh, I mean it," he went on. "I'm an easy chap to get on with, but I'm master here. I tell you that straight."
Dick felt as though his nerves were raw; the man's presence was maddening. And he had to give up everything to him!
"It's a purely personal telegram," he replied. "I'm only considering how I shall answer it."
He seized a telegraph form, and dipped a pen into an inkstand, but he did not write a word. His mind again flew back to the night when Romanoff tempted him, and when he had felt a hand grip his wrist.
"Let's get out," he said, cramming the telegram into his pocket.
"Yes; let's," assented Riggleton; "but let's have a drink before we go. I say, my man," and he turned to the servant, who still waited, "bring a bottle of fizz. Yes; do as you're told. I'm your new master. Everything belongs to me. See?"