“A Mr. D’Alloi is waiting for you in your private office, sir,” he was told. “He said that he was an old friend and insisted on going in there.”
Peter passed into his office.
Watts cried: “My dear boy, how can I ever—”
He was holding out his hand, but Peter failed to take it, and interrupted him.
“I have arranged it all with Madame Lacour,” Peter said coldly. “She sails on La Bretagne on Thursday. You are to buy an annuity for three thousand dollars a year. In addition, you are to buy an annuity for the boy till he is twenty-five, of one thousand dollars a year, payable to me as his guardian. This will cost you between forty and fifty thousand dollars. I will notify you of the amount when the insurance company sends it to me. In return for your check, I shall send you the letters and other things you sent Madame Lacour, or burn them, as you direct. Except for this the affair is ended. I need not detain you further.”
“Oh, I say, chum. Don’t take it this way,” cried Watts. “Do you think—?”
“I end it as suits me,” said Peter. “Good-day.”
“But, at least you must let me pay you a fee for your work?”
Peter turned on Watts quickly, but checked the movement and the words on his tongue. He only reiterated. “Good-day.”
“Well, if you will have it so.” Watts went to the door, but hesitated. “Just as you please. If, later, you change your mind, send me word. I shan’t cherish any feeling for this. I want to be friends.”