Death in the Castle by Pearl S. Buck

move to look at it. No one spoke.
    “I’m very sorry for all this, Mr. Webster,” John Blayne went on. “It’s simply one of those misunderstandings that seem to arise between continents these days. Please read this. It’s my letter. You should have had a copy, but I supposed that of course Sir Richard would have shown it to you.”
    Mr. Holt spoke. “I was afraid of this, Blayne. I distrust informality.”
    “Very dangerous,” Webster added.
    John Blayne gave him a quick glance, half impatient, half humorous. He was about to speak, but Mr. Holt prevented him by speaking first. “Mr. Webster is right, the situation calls for negotiation.”
    “Very dangerous otherwise,” Philip Webster remarked, pleased that his point had been made.
    John Blayne turned to Philip Webster and waited while the letter in question was carefully read.
    “It’s really not the sort of thing that ordinary individuals should undertake, you know,” Webster said, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Only lawyers should handle this sort of thing. Of course, my clients are quite right, too. It’s impossible. We English don’t export our castles, you know.” He turned to Sir Richard. “There’ll be litigation, I’m afraid. It may be very nasty. One never knows. But we’ll have to go through with it.”
    Lady Mary, who had sat nervously twisting her fingers, rose with a sudden graceful movement from her chair. “I think at this moment, gentlemen, we could all do with a cup of tea.” She went to the bell pull on the wall and jerked it vigorously. Down through distant corridors the jangling could be heard.
    When Wells appeared, she asked him to send Kate with tea for them all. “We are five, Wells,” she announced, as if she could not trust the old man’s eyesight.
    “Very good, my lady.” He turned quickly and left the room. Aware of what the meeting was about, he was not willing to have them see the tears he could not control and that were already finding their way down his time-worn face.
    During the interlude the two lawyers remained silent and watchful.
    “There won’t be any litigation,” John Blayne said. “I certainly shan’t force Sir Richard against his will. However,—well, here’s the check for the agreed sum—one million dollars, just to prove that I came in good faith.”
    There was a small gasp from Lady Mary. Kate, coming in with the tray of steaming teacups, looked up at John Blayne. Their eyes caught each other’s for an instant of time.
    “The letter is a commitment, Mr. Blayne.” David Holt’s words were measured. “And I must remind you also that you have already spent fifty thousand dollars, that you have engaged two ships, that you—”
    Webster interrupted bluntly. “The letter wouldn’t stand up in an English court of law, sir.”
    “We are Americans and deal in American law, sir,” Holt retorted.
    “My client is an Englishman, sir!” Webster rejoined.
    “Being an Englishman doesn’t excuse him from what a letter says in plain English,” Mr. Holt declared, “especially since I have a letter in our files accepting our proposition.”
    “And I maintain he can’t accept what he doesn’t understand,” Webster insisted.
    The American lawyer persisted. “We have already brought over a group of architectural experts. Our technicians will soon follow. Vast plans have been made and contracts assigned. This was done following your letter of acceptance. The damages will be costly if everything must be canceled.”
    Webster dashed his pipe on the floor and ran his stubby hands through his reddish-gray hair until it stood in a curly tangle. “Try it, sir, just you try it! It’ll be Agincourt again, I daresay, but remember who won! The castle’s on English soil.”
    “Stop this!” The imperious voice was John Blayne’s.
    They stopped. Before their eyes he tore the check into small pieces and let the pieces flutter to the floor. Then he took the letter from the table, folded it into