He paused.
"Well?" I said grimly.
"I'll—I'll give you a cheque; and you can clear out and start fresh."
"Billy," I said, "just open that hall door, will you?"
Then I jerked my prisoner round, so that I could see his face.
"You appear to be under a slight misapprehension, Maurice," I said. "In the first place, you are not Prado's heir; and in the second, I don't happen to be in need of money."
Tightening my grip on his collar, I moved him slowly backwards across the hall towards the front door.
"What are you going to do?" he wailed.
"If I did my duty," I said pleasantly, "I should wring your neck. As I don't want to hurt your Aunt Mary's feelings, however, I'm merely going to throw you out of the house."
He writhed and twisted like a freshly landed eel, but step by step I shoved him inexorably backwards towards the door which Billy was holding open. In moments of great bodily stress the most carefully assumed refinement is apt to be dissipated, and I regret to say that Maurice's language would have disgraced a cow-puncher. I don't think Mercia minded in the least,—fortunately, she is not that sort,—but his confounded cheek at using it in front of her lent an additional stimulus to my efforts.