I tell you frankly, Sir Paul, that I was so furious at this that I leaped out of my chair, and, old man though I am, struck Melun across his face.
It was an action which I deeply repented, for, as compensation, he demanded another fifty thousand pounds, and again impudently insisted upon his marriage with my daughter.
This, however, I steadily declined to consider for a moment. It seemed to me impossible for a man of Melun's description to fail to be contented with three hundred thousand pounds. To my dismay, I found I was mistaken. He repeated over and over again that I should ultimately consent to his marrying Lady Kathleen, and threatened me with exposure and ruin if I still held to my refusal.
Now I would have gladly faced exposure and ruin rather than have sacrificed my daughter to such a despicable hound as this. But, unfortunately, it was not only my ruin which was involved.
Of a certainty it meant the ruin of British diplomacy, if not complete disaster to the British Empire.
Disturbances in Russia alarmed the Czar. I sent Lady Kathleen over to St. Petersburg, and she urged him to make a personal appeal to our King to put the plan which I had prepared into instant action.
At the critical moment the Czar became thoroughly afraid of what the consequences might be, and declined to make any move. Moreover, he wrote me a letter saying that, even at the cost of Kathleen's marriage to Melun, the papers must be recovered and returned to him.
All this, of course, occasioned great delay, and Melun began to press me hard. I made every effort, most of them legitimate, but some, I fear, not quite legal, to get the papers back. I had his rooms searched, and I had the man himself seized and searched in my presence.
I had his friends and himself all searched on the same day and at the same hour. It was all to no purpose. I could not get the faintest clue as to the whereabouts of the papers.
Then Melun became more menacing than ever. He demanded £10,000 down and complete immunity from observation.