"I wish to show you the one treasure in this house which your d--d fingers must not touch." Mechanically de Batz rose at last.

He tried to be master of the terror which was invading his very bones.

He would not own to himself even that he was afraid, and almost audibly he kept murmuring to himself that he had no cause for fear.
Heron would never touch him.

The spy's avarice, his greed of money were a perfect safeguard for any man who had the control of millions, and Heron knew, of course, that he could make of this inveterate plotter a comfortable source of revenue for himself.

Three weeks would soon be over, and fresh bargains could be made time and again, while de Batz was alive and free.
Heron was still waiting at the door, even whilst de Batz wondered what this nocturnal visitation would reveal to him of atrocity and of outrage.