about him.

The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr. Ventnor
said rather pettishly:

"Beg pardon, I don't get you."

Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force:

"Your letters are Greek to me."

"Oh! indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!"

"Sooner the better."

Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision. Should he lay his
cards on the table? It was not his habit, and the proceeding was
sometimes attended with risk. The knowledge, however, that he could
always take them up again, seeing there was no third person here to
testify that he had laid them down, decided him, and he said:

"Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our friend
Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale of his
ships. Oh! yes. He settled the money, not on you, but on your relative
Mrs. Larne and her children. This, as you know, is a breach of trust on
your part."

The old man's voice: "Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull
story?" brought him to his feet before the fire.

"It won't do, Mr. Heythorp. My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne, and
Mr. Scriven."

"What have you come here for, then--blackmail?"

Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue had
dyed his face.

"Oh! you take that tone," he said, "do you? You think you can ride
roughshod over everything? Well, you're very much mistaken. I advise
you to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll make a
beggar of you. I'm not sure this isn't a case for a prosecution!"

"Gammon!"

The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he burst
out:

"Neither gammon nor spinach. You owe me three hundred pounds, you've
owed it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this attitude
with me, have you? Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean. You just
listen to me. Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or I call this
meeting and make what I know public. You'll very soon find out where you
are. And a good thing, too, for a more unscrupulous--unscrupulous---" he
paused for breath.

Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old
Heythorp's face. The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the
crimson of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair. He
grasped the arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands
trembled; a little saliva escaped one corner of his lips.