He could display a princely
generosity in dealing with Verity as the near relative and guardian of
his promised wife; to the man whom he suspected of creating the
obstacles that kept her away from him he applied a pitiless logic.
The storm had burst unexpectedly. Bulmer came to dinner, ate and drank
and smoked in quiet amity until David's laboring muse conveyed his
niece's latest "kind love an' good wishes," and then----
"Tell you wot," said Dickey, "there's another five thousand due
to-morrow on the surveyor's report."
"There is," said Verity, knowing that his guest and prospective partner
alluded to the new steamer in course of construction on the Clyde.
"Well, it won't be paid."
David lifted his glass of port to hide his face. Was this the first
rumbling of the tempest? Though expected hourly, he was not prepared
for it. His hand trembled. He dared not put the wine to his lips.
"Wot's up now?" he asked.
"You're playin' some underhand game on me, David, an' I won't stand
it," was the unhesitating reply. "You're lyin' about Iris. You've bin
lyin' ever since she disappeared from Bootle. Show me 'er letters an'
their envelopes, an' I'll find the money. But, of course, you can't.
They don't exist. Now, own up as man to man, an' I'll see if this
affair can be settled without the lawyers.
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