"Bring him," she said crisply. And the blue lightning flashed in her eyes.
When Mr. Waudle came in and the clerk had gone and closed the door, Jacqueline said quietly:
"I'll give you one minute, Mr. Waudle. Proceed."
"I think," he said, looking at her out of his inflamed eyes, "that you'll feel inclined to give me more than that when you understand what I've got in this packet." And he drew from his overcoat pocket a roll of galley proofs.
"What is it?" she asked, looking calmly into his dangerous red eyes.
"It's a story, set up and in type—as you see. And it's about your husband and Mrs. Clydesdale—if you want to know."
A shaft of fear struck straight through her. Then, in an instant the blanched cheeks flushed and the blue eyes cleared and sparkled.
"What is it you wish?" she asked in a curiously still voice.
"I'll tell you; don't worry. I want you to stop this man Clydesdale, and stop him short. I don't care how you do it; do it, that's all. He's bought and paid for certain goods delivered to him by me. Now he's squealing. He wants his money back. And—if he gets it back this story goes in. Want me to read it to you?"
"No. What is it you wish me to do—deceive Mr. Clydesdale? Make him believe that the remainder of the jades and rose-quartz carvings are genuine?"