I followed him into his room to break the news.“Schmidt’s been here.”If Arthur’s wig had been suddenly jerked from his head by a fisherman, he could hardly have looked more startled.“William, please tell me the worst at once. Don’t keep me in suspense. What time was this? Did you see him yourself? What did he say?”“He’s trying to blackmail you, isn’t he?”Arthur looked at me quickly.“Did he admit that?”“He as good as told me. He says he’s written to you already, and that if you don’t do what he wants by the end of the week there’ll be trouble.”“He actually said that? Oh dear….”“You should have told me he’d written,” I said reproachfully.“I know, dear boy, I know….” Arthur was the picture of distress. “It’s been on the tip of my tongue several tirqes this last fortnight. But I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. I kept hoping that, somehow, it might all blow over.”“Now, look here, Arthur; the point is this: does Schmidt really know anything about you which can do you harm?”He had been nervously pacing the room, and now sank, a disconsolate shirtsleeved figure, into a chair, forlornly regarding his button-boots.“Yes, William.”
