It was the baronet who broke the silence—it is always the man who has least to fear that recovers first.
Westerham had pursued a train of thought as bold as it was unerring. It had come home to him that Melun was not merely a blackmailer, but a prince among blackmailers. With infinite speed of thought he followed out his idea, and came to a conclusion which at once suggested and vindicated his next remark.
“I have never realised before, Captain Melun,” he said, “what a pleasure it was to meet a perfectly-unqualified villain.”
Captain Melun raised his black eyebrows a shade more obliquely, and his eyelids flickered. He was, however, equal to the situation.
“Indeed?” he said coolly, though he passed his tongue along his upper lip beneath his carefully-trimmed moustache. “Indeed? I shall be glad if you will explain.”
Westerham took a deep breath and laughed almost gaily. “I shall be charmed,” he said.
He paused a little and then continued: “No man, except one with such a reputation as yours,” he said, “would dream of regarding Lady Kathleen Carfax as a possible wife unless he were so equipped with all the arts of blackmail that he had some reason to hope for his success.”
By this time Captain Melun had got back his composure.
“You seem,” he said casually, “to endow Lord Penshurst with an exceedingly poor character.”
“Not exactly,” said Westerham. “I endow you with an exceedingly dangerous one.”