“It’s blood money,” he said.
“Blood money?” exclaimed Richmond. “In Heaven’s name, whose blood does it mean?”
“Yours!”
“Come, what joke is this?”
“It is no joke. I never joke on serious matters like this.”
The eyes of the two men met.
“This check is signed by your father, and yet you tell me that it is blood money.”
“That’s precisely what it is. He’s hired me to kill you.”
George Richmond broke into a laugh and leaned back in his chair.
“You don’t look like it, boy,” he cried. “Well, if I’m to be killed, why don’t you do it now?”