The lord laughed sarcastically. His heart had become cold and hard over the years, fixed as it was on his one goal. With the solemn face of a man, who was fulfilling a sacred duty, he went up the stairs to his son’s room. James had barricaded the door from the outside. When he saw the old man, he removed the barricade and threw open the door. The lord stopped for a moment on the threshold. The furniture in the room had been overturned, some of it was broken and there were all the signs of a furious fight having taken place.

  Philip was lying on his bed, with his face turned to the wall.

  “Get up, Philip,” Lord Swaffham said. “I wish to speak to you.”

  His son sat up. Anyone else but the lord would have been alarmed by the expression on the young man’s face.

  “What is the meaning of all this?” asked the old aristocrat in his most severe voice. “I hear that force had to be used against you during my absence.”

  The son responded, “I intend to be free and I will be so.”

  The Lord acted as if he had not heard the reply.

  “I knew immediately that some woman was trying to ensnare you. It wasn’t hard to know that some woman was whispering in your ear and turning you against me.”

  He stopped, but there was no reply.

  “I searched for this woman, this dangerous woman and I can tell you that I have found her. All I had to do is go to the small hill overlooking Bourne on Trent and there I found your Miss Worrall.”

  “Did you speak to her?” asked the son agitatedly.

  “I did so, certainly. I told her my opinion of women, who lie, cheat and use whatever advantage their beautiful bodies give them to destroy the lives of innocent men.”

  Philip turned deadly pale.

  “Did you really say that to her?” he asked, in a low, hoarse voice, completely unlike his normal voice. “You dared to insult the woman I love, when I was far away and unable to protect her! Don’t do that again, father, or I will forget that you’re my father.”

  “Are you threatening me?” asked the lord, incredulously, “In my house, my son dares to threaten me?”

  He raised the heavy stick he usually held in his hand he struck Philip violently. By a fortunate foresight the unlucky young man moved away and so avoided the full force of the stroke on his head. The stick struck him across the shoulder, inflicting a painful wound. In his blind rage Philip grabbed a hold of his father and was about to throw him out of the window, when his eyes caught sight of the open door. Freedom lay before him. He pushed his father in a corner and with a jump he was out of the room and on the stairs. Before the lord could get up and shout for help, he could see his son from the window, running to his car, tearing across the driveway and out of the main gates.

  In order to avoid being seen by Miss Worrall, Newton had to take a much longer route to get home than the one he thought Jane would take. As soon as he arrived at his cottage he went upstairs to his bedroom. He changed his clothes and combed his hair. From a cleverly hidden strongbox he took a small bottle of dark green glass. He hastily put it in his pocket. He went to his office and calmly sat behind his desk. He took the little green bottle out of his pocket and examined it carefully to make sure that it had not been tampered with. He ended the examination with a hard, cruel smile of satisfaction. He placed it on his desk among his ledgers and account books.

  “Now,” he said to himself, “I’m ready for you, Miss Jane Worrall.”

  But she didn’t show herself.

  “Why on earth does she not come?” he mumbled after fifteen minutes.

  He began to get uneasy. He went to the window and glanced eagerly down the road. He looked at the clock on the wall. Suddenly his ears detected a gentle tapping on the door of his office.

  “Come in,” he said, sitting down behind his desk quickly.

  The door opened and Jane entered. She was walking slowly. Newton stood up and bowed deeply. Without saying a word, taking no notice of the servile attitude of the Weasel, hardly even noticing his presence and with a deep sigh she threw herself in a chair.

  As she sat there Newton’s heart beat faster. He was filled with the utmost delight. He understood at last why Jane had taken so long to reach his humble abode. Her conversation with Lord Swaffham had almost broken her emotionally, if not physically.

  Newton sat down again and glanced at Jane. She slowly regained her energy and slowly seemed to shake off the fatigue that clang to her limbs. At last she turned to her host.

  “Mr. Newton, I’ve come to you for advice. About an hour ago…”

  With a gesture of sympathy Newton stopped her.

  “It’s terrible!” he said. “Speak no more. I know all.”

  “Then you know that…”

  “Yes, I know that Mr. Philip is a prisoner at Swaffham Manor. Yes, Miss, I know all this and I also know that you have met Lord Swaffham on the hilltop. I also know everything you said to the old man.”

  In spite of herself, Jane was unable to restrain a chill going up her spine.

  “This is impossible. Who told you this?” she whispered.

  “A farmer, who was out drinking in the woods. My dear young lady, the forest is not a safe place. It has ears and eyes. Secrets are not secrets, when watchful eyes and listening ears are hiding behind every bush. This man and some of his friends had bought a bottle of rum and were drinking near where you stood. I’m afraid they heard every word that was spoken and as soon as your meeting with the lord ended they scampered off to tell the story to all who have ears and an appetite for gossip. Dear me! Everyone, including your parents will know what happened soon.”

  “Then all is lost and I’m ruined,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

  Her despair didn’t last long, however. She never was a woman to allow fate to dictate her course. She grasped the arm of the Weasel.

  “This can not be my end. Speak! What can I do? You must have some plan. I’m ready to do anything, now that I have nothing to lose. If I must go down, no one will ever say that that coward, Lord Swaffham, got away with impunity. Tell me now! Will you help me?”

  “Please, young lady!” he cried. “Please, I beg you not to speak so loud. You don’t know the villain that you are fighting with.”

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  “Yes, I fear him. Any man, who is not totally mad, would fear him. He’s a determined man and he is willing to do anything and sacrifice anybody to win. He tried his best to crush me, because I summoned him to court on behalf of one of my clients. I am afraid.”

  “So,” said the young woman, coldly, “after leading us to this disaster, you’re abandoning us?”

  “What can I say, Miss? I know him.”

  “Philip is still on my side. He will protect me.”

  Newton shook his head with an air of deep sorrow.

  “How can we be sure that Philip has not given in to his father?”

  “No,” screamed the woman, springing up. “Even thinking of such a thing is an insult to Philip. He would sooner die than give in. He may be reserved, but he’s not a coward. I will give him the power to resist his father’s tyranny.”

  Newton sat back in his armchair as though overcome by her words.

  “I know his father. Philip is exposed to all his father’s violence, without any help in the world and in such times even the strongest give way.”

  The young woman fell back on her seat. She began crying hysterically.

  “All is lost! Philip will give in. He will marry another and I will be left alone, with my reputation gone and the contempt of the entire district.”

  “Miss, do not despair. You still have your life.”

  “All I have left is my miserable life and my life I would happily give for vengeance.”

  There was something terribly decided in the young woman’s voice. It surprised Newton and for the first time, he wondered if he could keep her under his thumb.

  “We must be prudent and not waste our opportunities,” he said. “A shot in the dark woods one evening would settle the matter. But it has been tried before. The old man seems to have the luck of the devil. A judge might take a very serious view of such a matter and not classify the crime as merely an act of justice, but an act of murder. Where are we then?”

  The face of Jane Worrall looked up at him. She stopped crying.

  “No, there is no time for impotent dreams of revenge,” continued Newton. “The lord will go on living to a hundred. He will die peacefully in his bed and masses will be sung for the eternal rest of his soul. No one will care about the souls of his victims, his countless victims.”

  The Weasel took the little bottle from among his ledgers and turned it over and over between his thick fingers.

  “Your life,” he murmured, thoughtfully, “his son’s life. There will be countless lives destroyed by this one man, unless…”

  He took the cork from the little green bottle and poured a little of the contents in the palm of his hand. A few grains of white powder, glistening like small diamonds, appeared on the soft pink hand of the Weasel.

  “And yet,” he went on, “let him take a small pinch of this and no one need ever be afraid of him again in this world. Who would be afraid of a man, who lies six feet underground, locked up in a strong oak coffin, with a nicely carved gravestone over his head?”

  He stopped talking. He fixed his eyes on the woman in front of him. For two minutes the old man and the young woman sat face to face, motionless and without saying a word. Through the silence, the beating of their hearts could be heard. It seemed as if before speaking again each of them wished to look deeply into each other’s eyes and understand the workings of the other’s heart. It was a contract entered into by silent glances and not by spoken words. Newton understood the game. When, at last, he spoke again, his voice was no more than a whisper. He himself feared listening to his own thoughts.

  “There will be no pain. In ten seconds all is over. There will be no gasps for air, no cries for help. The heart will simply cease to beat.”

  “But in the event of a police doctor’s examination?”

  “This leaves no evidence behind it. A pinch of this in wine or tea will be enough. It’s tasteless, colorless and scentless. Its presence is impossible to detect even by skilful chemists in London. In a place like this, never! Never in a million years. This…”

  He stopped short, because a word came to his lips, which he didn’t dare utter out loud. He raised his hand to his mouth and coughed.

  “This, uh, substance is not sold by chemists. It’s very rare, difficult to prepare and terribly expensive. It’s unlikely that anyone in these parts even knows of its existence.”

  “How did you...”

  “Years ago, when I was still living in London, I was able to help out a famous scientist and he gave me this powder as a present. It’s impossible to trace it back to him. I’ve had it for more than ten years and the scientist, who gave it to me died on an expedition to the source of the River Nile.”

  “After all these years, it must have lost all of its destructive powers.”

  “I used it only a month ago. I threw a pinch of it in a basin of water and gave it to a big dog. He drank the water and ten seconds later he was stark and dead.”

  “That’s horrible!” exclaimed Jane, covering her face with her hand. “Why would you do that?”

  A sinister smile appeared on the thin lips of the Weasel. His nose seemed to sniff the air, like a snake, before it attacked.

  “Why do you say horrible?” he asked. “The dog had rabies. Had he bitten me, I would have died a horrible death. It was just, what I did. I have the right to defend myself. Sometimes a man is more dangerous than a dog.”

  Jane placed her hand on Newton’s mouth to stop him from saying anything more.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” she said.

  But at this moment a heavy step was heard outside on the stairs.

  “It’s Philip,” she said, astonished.

  “That’s impossible! It must be his father.”

  “It’s Philip,” cried Miss Worrall excitedly.

  She snatched the little green bottle from the Weasel’s hands and hid it in her bosom. The door flew open and Philip appeared on the threshold. Jane and the Weasel both screamed, when they saw the way he looked. Anger had distorted his features. He walked unsteadily. His clothes were torn and disorganized. His shoulder was stained with blood, which had flowed from a cut close to his throat.

  “Who did this to you, Viscount?” Newton asked.

  “My father struck me.”

  “That’s horrible! He must be out of his mind. His thirst for blood knows no bounds.”

  Jane stepped closer to her lover.

  “Allow me to examine your wounds,” she said.

  She placed both her hands on his shoulder and standing on her tip-toe, she inspected the cut. As she did so, she trembled.

  “An inch to the right and you would’ve been dead.”

  She turned to Newton.

  “Quick,” she said, “give me some rags and water.”

  Philip gently disengaged himself.

  “Ah, it’s nothing,” he said. “Fortunately I didn’t receive the whole weight of the blow on my shoulder.”

  “Why did your father strike you?”

  “He insulted you, Jane! He forgot that I, too, have the blood of the Swaffhams running through my veins.”

  Miss Worrall burst out in tears.

  “I,” she sobbed, “I’ve brought this on you. You could’ve died.”

  “You? He owes his life to you. He dared to strike me as if I was a mere servant. I was ready to kill him for that, but the thought of you held me back. I ran. I will never again enter that cursed house. I renounce Lord Swaffham. He is no longer my father and I don’t ever want to see him again. I wish I could banish him from my memory. I wish I could forget that such a man ever existed.”

  Newton’s heart overflowed with delight. His deeply evil soul celebrated every word the young man uttered.

  “Viscount,” he said, “please listen to reason. In all misfortunes there is an element of luck. Your father has made a huge mistake. His emotions will yet cost him dear.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Philip.

  “I mean that you can be freed from the tyranny of your father. We now have all that is necessary for lodging a formal complaint in court. We have imprisonment of a person, threats and violence against the person. Our case is complete. A doctor will examine your wound and give us a written deposition. We can produce plenty of evidence and witnesses. Besides the wound will tell the whole story.”

  “Enough of that,” said Philip, impatiently. “Will the court’s decision give me the right to marry Jane without my father’s consent?”

  Newton hesitated. He knew that the court would grant Philip the liberty he desired, but he didn’t wish to lose control over the young man just yet. He thought it prudent not to say so.

  “No, Viscount, it will not do so,” he lied.

  “Well, then, what’s the use? The Swaffham family has never exposed its problems to the public. I will not begin to do so,” said Philip decisively.

  The Weasel seemed surprised at his decision. The young man’s determination could yet derail his plans.

  “If, Viscount,” he began, “I could have just a few more moments of your time, I might advise you…”

  “I almost died today. I don’t need advice. My mind is entirely made up. I do need some help, though. In twenty-four hours I will require a large sum of money. Say twenty thousand shilling.”

  “You can have them, sir, but I would be amiss if I didn’t warn you that you will have to pay a heavy interest on the load. You see…”

  “I don’t care for that.”

  Miss Worrall opened her mouth to speak, but with a gesture of his hand Philip stopped her.

  “Don’t you understand, Jane?” he asked her. “We must flee! Now! We can find some safe retreat in Scotland or down in Cornwall, where we can live happily together. Where they won’t find us.”

  “This is madness, Philip!” cried Jane.

  “They will pursue you,” said the Weasel. “They will find you.”

  Philip took Jane’s hands.

  “Can you not trust your life to me?” he asked reproachfully. “I swear that I will devote my life to you. Jane, I beg you to run away with me.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “But then you don’t love me,” he said in despair. “I’ve been a fool to believe that your heart was mine. You never loved me.”

  “Oh God, hear him talk!”

  “Are you scared of the gossip, which will follow our flight? Is that what you fear?”

  He stopped. The fire that shone in Jane’s eyes stopped him cold.

  “Must I justify myself to you?” she asked. “Have I not already defied my parents? Has the whole town not sat in judgment on me? And what have I done? Everything we did and everything we said I can repeat to my mother without the slightest embarrassment. They have already come to a decision. My reputation is gone. It is completely lost and yet my conscience is as white as snow.”

  Philip was out of his mind with anger. He howled like a wolf.

  “Who would dare to treat you with anything but respect?” he asked.

  “Dear Philip,” she replied, “tomorrow there will be a huge scandal. While your father was fighting with me, he was overheard by a group of farm workers.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, it’s quite true,” said Newton. “One of them told me himself.”

  Miss Worrall threw one glance at the Weasel. It was enough for him to understand that she wished to be left alone with her lover.

  “Pardon me,” he said, looking out the window, “but I believe I have a visitor and I must make sure he does not come up here and see you.”

  He left the room, closing the door noisily behind him.

  “So my father,” continued Philip, when alone, “didn’t even make sure you were alone, when he accused you of being a harlot. He was carried away by his own anger and didn’t just try to cast doubt on your honor, but at the same time he painted his son, a Swaffham with the brush of infamy. Does he think he can blackmail me into marrying Miss Harcourt for her money?”