‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself.
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