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"Aren't you feeling well, John?" she asked with asperity. It was not the first time she had seen her husband's hand shaking and had diagnosed the cause more justly than she was doing at present, for John Crotin had scarcely taken a drink that evening. "I'm going into the library, if you'll excuse me, love," he said. "Maybe, Mr. Mr. de Silva will join me.
I've got men working for me all over the country, agents and sub-agents, who are constantly on the look-out for scandal. Housekeepers, servants, valets you know the sort of people who get hold of information." Mr. Crotin was speechless. "Sooner or later I find a very incriminating fact which concerns a gentleman of property.
"I heard him speaking to the colonel on the landing and I heard the words: 'He'll pay." She thought a moment. "Ten-twenty-five," she repeated; "thank you very much, Mr. Cobalt." She hung up the receiver and sat for a moment in thought, then passed quickly to her bedroom and began to dress. Lady Sybil Crotin was not a popular woman.
"And what might you be thinking of paying for it?" asked Crotin between his teeth. "Twenty thousand pounds," said Pinto nonchalantly. "Twenty thousand, eh? It was thirty thousand the last time. You'll want me to give it to you soon. Nay, nay, my friend, I'll pay, but not in mills." "Think of the poor," murmured Pinto. "I'm thinking of them," said the other.
"She was one of your father's mill-girls when you were little more than a boy," the colonel proceeded, "and you were rather in love with her, and one Easter you went away together to Blackpool. Do you remember?" Still Crotin did not speak.
"You hate the idea of the generous donor being unmasked and appearing to anybody as a blackmailer. Well, you needn't worry about that. Lady Sybil will not know, nor will anybody else that counts. And, believe me, Crotin doesn't count.
He did not look at Crotin, but went on: "A few of my friends are thinking of buying a mill." "A woollen mill?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "A woollen mill!" he repeated. "But why?" she asked. "We wish to make garments and blankets for the benefit of the poor.
"Thank God!" said the man on the terrace. "Will you come up, sir? I thought it was the gamekeeper I was speaking to." "What is the matter?" asked Stafford as he vaulted over the parapet. "Mr. Crotin has shot himself, sir," said the butler in quavering tones. Twelve hours later Stafford King reported to his chief, giving the details of the overnight tragedy. "Poor fellow!" said Sir Stanley.
We feel that, if we could run this sort of thing on a co-operative basis, we could manufacture the stuff cheaply, always providing, of course, that we could purchase a mill at a reasonable figure." For the first time he looked at Crotin, and the man's face was ghastly white. "What a queer idea!" said Lady Sybil. "A good mill will cost you a lot of money." "We don't think so," said Pinto.
Crotin dropped his knife with a crash and with a mumbled apology picked it up. "But how terrible!" said Lady Sybil. "What a shocking thing! The man should be exposed. He is not fit to associate with human beings. Can't you do something to punish him?"
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