He looked at me steadily for a moment or two, and then turned away. I saw him pull his handkerchief from the sleeve of his coat, and pass it once across his forehead, and then rub his hands with it hard, as though they were wet. Then, in the most matter-of-fact way, he came back to me, and looked at me steadily. His eyes were very bright--brighter and darker in contrast with the pallor of his face. "You're not lying to me?" he demanded, in a whisper. "I am not lying." "And I suppose it doesn't happen by chance that you and this brother of mine are in league--and that you are to terrorize me, and find out about the girl--eh?" "Don't you think in that case he would have come to you and made his threat in person?" I asked quickly. "Yes, I suppose he would," he admitted. "In any case, I have to thank you for this; if you'd have held your tongue, he might have thought that the girl had run away, or that she wanted nothing more to do with him; he might never have connected me with the matter at all. And now, having caught me here like a rat in a trap, I suppose you think you can force me to do something, out of fear? Well, you won't do that; because in this unequal world it's the rich man that always scores in the long run. That poor beggar cooling his heels on the pavement outside may threaten as he likes; I am safe enough. But I wish I'd tied you up a little more securely, my friend," he added viciously. "You can get out of this difficulty in a moment," I reminded him. "Say where the girl is, and produce her to this boy unharmed, and you are safe." "No!" he exclaimed violently. "I'll not be threatened by him--I'll not be forced to do anything against my will. I can snap my fingers at him. Besides," he added with a grin, "there's another reason. I don't myself know where the girl is." "But you sent her away with the man Dawkins," I exclaimed quickly. "Who was to bring her to London, and to let me know where she was. And I haven't heard yet." Even as he spoke I heard a sharp double knock at the outer door. I think for a moment Olivant imagined that this was but a ruse on the part of the boy to get in; I saw him move quickly to the further end of the room. But a moment later the manservant came in with a small salver on which lay a letter. Olivant, with almost a sigh of relief, picked it up and turned it over. "Talk of the devil," he muttered with a laugh, and tore it open. He seemed to read the thing through twice; and as he read his face grew harder and harder. Finally he turned to me, and spoke quietly, with something of the air of a man who is driven into a corner, but has set his back against the wall, and means to fight.