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 thinking. A hundred thousand pounds. It meant Mirelle and a continuance of his pleasant, careless life. It meant that Van Aldin knew something. Van Aldin did not pay for nothing. He got up and stood by the chimneypiece.
“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 many 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?”