“Will you go?  You seem to have been hurt.  You have probably carried this lying story elsewhere and have received what you merited.  I hardly like to touch you now, but unless you go—­”

“I am going.”  Slotman moved stiffly towards the door.  “Ask Lady Linden of Cornbridge.  She believes to this day that Joan Meredyth is Hugh Alston’s wife.”

“By heavens!  If you don’t go—­”

Slotman glanced at him; he saw that he was over-stepping the danger-line.  Yes, he must go, and quickly, so he went.  But he had planted the venom; he had left it behind him.  He had forced this man to hear, even though he would not listen.

“First blow,” Slotman thought, “the first blow at her!  And I ain’t done yet! no, I ain’t done yet.  I’ll make her writhe—­”

He paused.  He had not carried out his intention in full, this man had not given him time.  Of course, if it was only Joan’s money that this fellow Everard was after, the story would make little or no difference.  The marriage would go on all the same, if it was a matter of money, but—­

Philip Slotman retraced his painful steps.  Once again he tapped on the door of Buddesby.

“There was something that I wished to say to Mr. Everard that I entirely forgot—­a small matter,” he said to the servant.  “Don’t trouble, I know the way.”

He pushed past the girl into the house.  Johnny, staring before him into vacancy, trying to realise this incredible, impossible thing that the man had told him, started.  He looked up.  In the doorway stood Mr. Slotman.

“By Heaven!” said Johnny, and sprang up.  “If you don’t go—­”

“Wait!  You don’t think I should be such a fool as to come to you with a lying story, a story that could not be substantiated?  What I have told you is the truth.  You may not believe it, because you don’t want to.  You are marrying a young lady with ample possessions; that may weigh with you.  Now, rightly or wrongly, I hold that Miss Meredyth owes me a certain sum of money.  I want that money.  It doesn’t matter to me whether I get it from her or from you.  If you like to pay her debt, I will guarantee silence.  I shall carry this true story no further if you will undertake to pay me immediately following your marriage with her the sum of ten thousand—­”

In spite of his stiffness and his sores, Mr. Slotman turned; he fled, he ran blindly down the hall, undid the hall door, and let himself out, and then without a glance behind, he fled across the wide garden till he reached the road, panting and shaking.  And now for the first time he looked back, and as he did so a blinding white glare seemed to strike his eyes; he staggered, and tried to spring aside.  Then something struck him, and the black world about him seemed to vomit tongues of red and yellow flame.

The occupants of the fast-travelling touring car felt the horrible jolt the car gave.  A woman shrieked.  The chauffeur shouted an oath born of fear and horror as he applied his brakes.  He stood up, yet for a moment scarcely dared to look back.  The woman in the car was moaning with the shock of it; and when he looked he saw something lying motionless, a dark patch against the dim light on the road.