“I have, yes,” he said carefully. “I – I wish Mr. Van Aldin had chosen some one else.”
Derek raised his eyebrows in mock dismay.
“Is it as bad as all that? I am not very thin skinned, I can assure you, Knighton.”
“No,” said Knighton; “but this-”
He paused.
Derek eyed him keenly.
“Go on, out with it,” he said kindly. “I can imagine my dear father-in-law's errands might not always be pleasant ones.”
Knighton cleared his throat. He spoke formally in tones that he strove to render free of embarrassment.
“I am directed by Mr. Van Aldin to make you a definite offer.”
“An offer?” For a moment Derek showed his surprise. Knighton's opening words were clearly not what he had expected. He offered a cigarette to Knighton, lit one himself, and sank back in his chair, murmuring in a slightly sardonic voice:
“An offer? That sounds rather interesting.”
“Shall I go on?”
“Please. You must forgive my surprise, but it seems to me that my dear father-in-law has rather climbed down since our chat this morning. And climbing down is not what one associates with strong men, Napoleons of finance, etc. It shows – I think it shows that he finds his position weaker than he thought it.”
Knighton listened politely to the easy, mocking voice, but no sign of any kind showed itself on his rather stolid countenance.
He waited until Derek had finished, and then he said quietly.
“I will state the proposition in the fewest possible words.”
“Go on.”
Knighton did not look at the other. His voice was curt and matter-of-fact.
“The matter is simply this. Mrs. Kettering, as you know, is about to file a petition for divorce. If the case goes undefended you will receive one hundred thousand on the day that the decree is made absolute.”
Derek, in the act of lighting his cigarette, suddenly stopped dead.
“A hundred thousand!” he said sharply. “Dollars?”
“Pounds.”
There was dead silence for at least two minutes. Kettering had his brows together linking. A hundred thousand pounds. It meant Mirelle and a continuance of his pleasant, carefree life. It meant that Van Aldin knew something. Van Aldin did not pay for nothing. He got up and stood by the chimney-piece.
“And in the event of my refusing his handsome offer?” he asked, with a cold, ironical politeness.
Knighton made a deprecating gesture.
“I can assure you, Mr. Kettering,” he said earnestly, “that it is with the utmost unwillingness that I came here with this message.”
“That's all right,” said Kettering. “Don't distress yourself; it's not your fault. Now then – I asked you a question, will you answer it?”
Knighton also rose. He spoke more reluctantly than before.
“In the event of your refusing this proposition,” he said, “Mr. Van Aldin wished me to tell you in plain words that he proposes to break you. Just that.”
Kettering raised his eyebrows, but he retained his light, amused manner.
“Well, well!” he said, “I suppose he can do it. I certainly should not be able to put up much of a fight against America's man of millions. A hundred thousand! If you are going to bribe a man there is nothing like doing it thoroughly. Supposing I were to tell you that for two hundred thousand I'd do what he wanted, what then?”
“I would take your message back to Mr. Van Aldin,” said Knighton unemotionally. “Is that your answer?”
“No,” said Derek; “funnily enough it is not. You can go back to my father-in-law and tell him to take himself and his bribes to hell. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” said Knighton. He got up, hesitated, and then flushed. “I – you will allow me to say, Mr. Kettering, that I am glad you have answered as you have.”
Derek did not reply. When the other had left the room he remained for a minute or two lost in thought. A curious smile came to his lips.
“And that is that,” he said softly.
Chapter 10. On the Blue Train
“Dad!”
Mrs. Kettering started violently. Her nerves were not completely under control this morning. Very perfectly dressed in a long mink coat and a little hat of Chinese lacquer red, she had been walking along the crowded platform of Victoria deep in thought, and her father's sudden appearance and hearty greeting had an unlooked-for effect upon her.
“Why, Ruth, how you jumped!”
“I didn't expect to see you, I suppose, Dad. You said good-bye to me last night and said you had a conference this morning.”
“So I have,” said Van Aldin, “but you are more to me than any number of darned conferences. I came to take a last look at you, since I am not going to see you for some time.”
“That is very sweet of you. Dad. I wish you were coming too.”
“What would you say if I did?”
The remark was merely a joking one. He was surprised to see the quick colour flame in Ruth's cheeks. For a moment he almost thought he saw dismay flash out of her eyes. She laughed uncertainly and nervously.
“Just for a moment I really thought you meant it,” she said.
“Would you have been pleased?”
“Of course.” She spoke with exaggerated emphasis.
“Well,” said Van Aldin, “that's good.”
“It isn't really for very long. Dad,” continued Ruth; “you know, you are coming out next month.”
“Ah!” said Van Aldin unemotionally, “sometimes I guess I will go to one of these big guys in Harley Street and have him tell that I need sunshine and change of air right away.”
“Don't be so lazy,” cried Ruth; “next month is ever so much nicer than this month out there. You have got all sorts of things you can't possibly leave just now.”
“Well, that's so, I suppose,” said Van Aldin with a sigh. “You had better be getting on board this train of yours, Ruth. Where is your seat?”
Ruth Kettering looked vaguely up at the train. At the door of one of the Pullman cars a thin, tall woman dressed in black was standing – Ruth Kettering's maid. She drew aside as her mistress came up to her.
“I have put your dressing-case under your seat. Madam, in case you should need it. Shall I take the rugs, or will you require one?”
“No, no, I shan't want one. Better go and find your own seat now, Mason.”
“Yes, Madam.”
The maid departed.
Van Aldin entered the Pullman car with Ruth. She found her seat, and Van Aldin deposited various papers and magazines on the table in front of her. The seat opposite to her was already taken, and the American gave a cursory glance at its occupant. He had a fleeting impression of attractive grey eyes and a neat travelling costume. He indulged in a little more desultory conversation with Ruth, the kind of talk peculiar to those seeing other people off by train.
Presently, as whistles blew, he glanced at his watch.
“I had best be clearing out of here. Goodbye, my dear. Don't worry, I will attend to things.”
“Oh, father!”
He turned back sharply. There had been something in Ruth's voice, something so entirely foreign to her usual
