"
Ernestine drew herself up. Once more in her finely flashing eyes
and resolute air the lawyer was reminded of his old friend.
"I will tell you what I should call it, Mr. Cuthbert," she said, "I
will tell you what I believe it is! It is blood-money."
Mr. Cuthbert dropped his eyeglass, and rose from his chair, startled.
"Blood-money! My dear young lady! Blood-money!"
"Yes! You have heard the whole story, I suppose! What did it
sound like to you? A valuable concession granted to two men, one
old, the other young! one strong, the other feeble! yet the
concession read, if one should die the survivor should take the
whole. Who put that in, do you suppose? Not my father! you may
be sure of that. And one of them does die, and Scarlett Trent is
left to take everything. Do you think that reasonable? I don't.
Now, you say, after all this time he is fired with a sudden desire
to behave handsomely to the daughter of his dead partner.
Fiddlesticks! I know Scarlett Trent, although he little knows who
I am, and he isn't that sort of man at all. He'd better have kept
away from you altogether, for I fancy he's put his neck in the noose
now! I do not want his money, but there is something I do want
from Mr. Scarlett Trent, and that is the whole knowledge of my
father's death.
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