There was a somewhat breathless silence in the room. Mr. McEachern was
panting slightly.

"You couldn't reconsider your decision about sending me away
to-morrow, I suppose?" said Jimmy, flicking at his shoes with a
handkerchief. "It's a lovely part of the country, this. I would be
sorry to leave it."

Mr. McEachern's brain was working with unwonted rapidity. This man
must be silenced at all costs. It would be fatal to his prospects in
English society if one tithe of these gruesome stories were made
public. And he believed Jimmy capable of making them public, being
guilty thereby of an error of judgment. Jimmy, though he had no
respect at all for Mr. McEachern, would have died sooner than spread
any story which, even in an indirect way, could reflect upon Molly.
Mr. McEachern, however, had not the advantage of knowing his
antagonist's feelings, and the bluff was successful.

"Ye can stay," he said.

"Thanks," said Jimmy.

"And I'll beg ye not to mention the force at dinner or at any other
time."

"I won't dream of it."

"They think I made me money on Wall Street."