I'm--I'm at your mercy.

I appeal to you"-- he stretched out his white, shapely hands--"you have a child of your own: she's as dear to you as mine is to me--I've watched you to-night, and I've seen you look at her as she moved about and talked and sang, with the look that my eyes wear when they rest on my boy.

I am at your mercy--not only mine, but my son's future--" He wiped the sweat from his forehead and drew a long breath.
Falconer leant back and smoked contemplatively, with a coolness, an indifference to the other's emotion which Sir Stephen found well-nigh maddening.
"Yes," said Falconer, after a pause, "I suppose your house of cards would come down with a crash if I opened my mouth say, at breakfast to-morrow morning, and told--well, all I know of the great Sir Stephen Orme when he bore the name of Black Steve.

Even you, with all you colossal assurance, could not face it or outlive it.

And as for the boy--it would settle his hash now and forever.