"Now," said Severac Bablon, in turn resuming his seat, "let us consider this matter of the million pounds!" "I will not----" began Hague. Severac Bablon checked him, with a gesture. "You will not contribute to a fund designed to aid in the defence of England? That is unjust. You reap large profits from England, Baron. To mention but one instance--you must draw quite twenty thousand pounds per annum from the firm of Romilis and Imer, Hatton Garden!" Baron Hague stared in angry bewilderment. "I have nothing to do with Romilis and Imer!" "No? Then you can have no objection to my placing in the proper hands particulars--which, you will find, have been abstracted from your notebook--of the manner in which this parcel of diamonds reached Hatton Garden! I have the letter from your agent in Cape Town, addressed to the firm, and I have one signed 'Geo. Imer,' addressed to _you_! Finally, I am a telephone subscriber, and De Beers' number is Bank 5740! Shall I ring up the London office in the morning and draw their attention to this parcel, and to the interesting correspondence bearing upon it?" Baron Hague's large features grew suddenly pinched in appearance. He leant forward, his hands resting upon his knees. Roles were reversed. The great banker found himself seeking for a defence--one that might satisfy the rogue for whom the police of Europe were seeking! "Why do you make a victim of _me_?" he gasped. "Antony Elschild is----" "Mr. Antony Elschild is a member of one of the greatest Jewish families in Europe, you would say? And his interests are wholly British? He has recognised that, Baron. I have his cheque for fifty thousand pounds!" "For _how much_?" "For fifty thousand pounds! Should you care to see it? I am forwarding it immediately to the _Gleaner_. Mr. Elschild is my friend. He it was who proposed that this fund be started by the great capitalists so as to stimulate smaller subscribers. His name is never absent from such lists, Baron." The Baron gulped. "In Berlin--they would say I was mad!" "And what will they say in Berlin if I call up De Beers in the morning? Which reputation is preferable, Baron?" Hague sat staring, fascinated, at the man in the long robe, who smoked yellow cigarettes and filled the air with their peculiar fumes. It seemed to him, suddenly, that he had taken leave of his senses, and that this cell--this pungent perfume--this man with the soul-searching eyes, the incisive voice--all were tricks of his senses. What had he preserved the secret of his connection with the Hatton Garden firm for all these long years--each year determining to quit whilst safe, but each year lured on by the prospect of vaster gain--only to lay it at the feet of this Severac Bablon, who would ruin him?