Merton slept very well in the turret room. He was aroused early by
noises which he interpreted as caused by the arrival of the London
detectives. But he only turned round, like the sluggard, and slumbered
till Logan aroused him at eight o'clock. He descended about a quarter to
nine, breakfast was at nine, and he found Logan looking much disturbed.
'They don't waste time,' said Logan, handing to Merton a letter in an
opened envelope. Logan's hand trembled.
'Typewritten address, London postmark,' said Merton. 'To Robert Logan,
Esq., at Kirkburn Keep, Drem, Scotland.'
Merton read the letter aloud; there was no date of place, but there were
the words:
'March 6, 2.45 P.M.
'SIR,--Perhaps I ought to say my Lord--'
'What a fool the fellow is,' said Merton.
'Why?'
'Shows he is an educated man.'
'You may obtain news as to the mortal remains of your kinsman, the
late Marquis of Restalrig, and as to his Will, by walking in the
Burlington Arcade on March 11, between the hours of three and half-
past three p.m. You must be attired in full mourning costume,
carrying a glove in your left hand, and a black cane, with a silver
top, in your right. A lady will drop her purse beside you. You will
accost her.'
Here the letter, which was typewritten, ended.
'You won't?' said Merton. 'Never meet a black-mailer halfway.'
'I wouldn't,' said Logan. 'But look here!'
He gave Merton another letter, in outward respect exactly similar to the
first, except that the figure 2 was typewritten in the left corner. The
letter ran thus:
'March 6, 4.25 p.m.
'SIR,--I regret to have to trouble you with a second communication,
but my former letter was posted before a change occurred in the
circumstances. You will be pleased to hear that I have no longer the
affliction of speaking of your noble kinsman as "_the late_ Marquis of
Restalrig."'
'Oh my prophetic soul!' said Merton, 'I guessed at first that he was not
dead after all! Only catalepsy.' He went on reading: 'His Lordship
recovered consciousness in circumstances which I shall not pain you by
describing. He is now doing as well as can be expected, and may have
several years of useful life before him. I need not point out to you
that the conditions of the negotiation are now greatly altered. On the
one hand, my partners and myself may seem to occupy the position of
players who work a double ruff at whist. We are open to the marquis's
offers for release, and to yours for his eternal absence from the scene
of life and enjoyment. But it is by no means impossible that you may
have scruples about outbidding your kinsman, especially as, if you did,
you would, by the very fact, become subject to perpetual "black-mailing"
at our hands. I speak plainly, as one man of the world to another. It
is also a drawback to our position that you could attain your ends
without blame or scandal (your ends being, of course, if the law so
determines, immediate succession to the property of the marquis), by
merely pushing us, with the aid of the police, to a fatal extreme. We
are, therefore reluctantly obliged to conclude that we cannot put the
marquis's life up to auction between you and him, as my partners, in the
first flush of triumph, had conceived. But any movement on your side
against us will be met in such a way that the consequences, both to
yourself and your kinsman, will prove to the last degree prejudicial. For
the rest, the arrangements specified in my earlier note of this instant
(dated 2.45 P. M.) remain in force.'
Merton returned the letter to Logan. Their faces were almost equally
blank.
'Let me think!' said Merton. He turned, and walked to the window. Logan
re-read the letters and waited. Presently Merton came back to the
fireside. 'You see, after all, this resolves itself into the ordinary
dilemma of brigandage. We do not want to pay ransom, enormous ransom
probably, if we can rescue the marquis, and destroy the gang. But the
marquis himself--'
'Oh, _he_ would never offer terms that they would accept,' said Logan,
with conviction. 'But I would stick at no ransom, of course.'
'But suppose that I see a way of defeating the scoundrels, would you let
me risk it?'
'If you neither imperil yourself nor him too much.'
'Never mind me, I like it. And, as for him, they will be very loth to
destroy their winning card.'
'You'll be cautious?'
'Naturally, but, as this place and the stations are sure to be watched,
as the trains are slow, local, and inconvenient, and as, thanks to the
economy of the marquis, you have no horses, it will be horribly difficult
for me to leave the house and get to London and to work without their
spotting me. It is absolutely essential to my scheme that I should not
be known to be in town, and that I should be supposed to be here. I'll
think it out. In the meantime we must do what we can to throw dust in
the eyes of the enemy. Wire an identical advertisement to all the London
papers; I'll write it.'