“You dear old fire-eater,” she said. “I really believe you would.” “My daughter,” the Premier said, “there has never been a murderer in this family to my knowledge; but I swear to you that if I have to settle the scoundrel myself you shall not marry Melun. Heavens! The price of silence is too big altogether.” CHAPTER X SIR PAUL IN PERIL It was all very well for Melun to tell Westerham that he was a strong man armed. But was he? Westerham pondered over this problem with a puzzled frown. In spite of the checks he had met with, he still felt himself to be, as Melun had said, a strong man. And when he came to a tight corner he was armed for the struggle, and had less fear of things than had Melun. At times also it seemed as if his ingenuity was greater than the captain's. But, for all that, did he really hold the upper hand? As he impartially summed the matter up for himself it seemed to him that he did not. On the _Gigantic_ he had laughed that Melun should hope to find in his possession anything to make him an easy prey to blackmail. Yet here he was, a prey to the worst blackmail of all—a species of blackmail of the heart. On every hand, and at every turn, no matter in what direction he might strike out, he was more than met and baffled by the one dominant fact that the faintest breath of publicity would inevitably lose him Lady Kathleen. So great, however, and so entirely unselfish was his love for the Premier's daughter, that he would have faced even that loss bravely could it have brought any peace to the hunted girl's mind. But he realised that to relinquish his claims would be immediately to throw her into the arms of Melun. Westerham shuddered when he thought of that. No, crippled and cramped though he was, he must certainly go on—go on in the blind hope that he could find something which would enable him to deal Melun a blow from which he could not recover. This, however, on further thought, seemed a rather _laissez faire_ policy to follow. It was ridiculous to think that, in spite of his handicap, he should be beaten and bested at every turn by such a man as Melun. For fully an hour, therefore, after the captain had left him, Westerham sat, pencil in hand, mapping out plan after plan of campaign. But all of them, as he pored over their possibilities, seemed to avail him nothing, and at last, when well nigh in despair, he tore up into minute fragments the various propositions he had formulated. Then it suddenly dawned on him that if he could only prove, as he strongly suspected, that Melun was by no means dealing honestly with his fellow criminals, he would be able by a little astute management to turn all the organisation which Melun had at his disposal against the captain himself. Westerham's bright gaze brightened and his smile broadened. With an almost boyish delight he immediately set to work to devise a scheme whereby he could turn the tables on his enemy.