Zertho sprang quickly from his chair with a look of murderous hatred in his dark face and flashing eyes. “You would still threaten me!” he said between his teeth. “You taunt me because you believe I am entirely in your hands.”
“I do not believe,” the other replied with cool indifference. “I know.”
“You are an infernal scoundrel!”
“I might pass a similar compliment,” he said. “But I see no reason why the pot should comment unfavourably upon the blackness of the kettle. I’m merely assisting you to obtain a pretty wife—a wife, by Heaven, too pure and good and beautiful for any such as you, and—”
“What do you mean?” Zertho interrupted with a start. This man evidently knew more than he had suspected. “You are not assisting me in the least.”
But Richards laughed aloud, and with a deprecatory wave of the hand, replied,—
“It’s no good to bluff me. I know it is your intention to marry Liane Brooker, whose beauty is so admired everywhere, and who is as good as she’s pretty. I happen to know something of her—more, perhaps, than you think. Well, only by my assistance can you obtain her. Therefore, you won’t be such an idiot as to quarrel with me.”
“I do not quarrel,” Zertho answered in a much more conciliatory tone. “I only protest against your infernal taunts and insolence.”
“Then the matter resolves itself into a simple one—a mere question of price.”
“I refuse to treat with you.”