“But allow me to remind you that in this instance the bird is in my hands.”
“For the present,” he interrupted with a meaning glance.
“Come, come,” I cried sharply, “we have had enough of this quibbling. I make you a sporting proposition. I will give you a share of these jewels for the casket.”
“I am afraid,” he said suspiciously, “my share would be rather a small one.”
“It would be one-third,” I said quietly. “I am not a thief. I covet no stolen property, and these stones were stolen. The price of blood is on them. Whether they were stolen to-day or five hundred years ago, the moral aspect of the case is the same. But I want that casket, and I must have it.”
“Who gets the other two-thirds?” demanded the duke, like a greedy glutton. “St. Hilary, I suppose.”
“If he can prove to me that he has played fair.”
The duke thought a minute. “Very well, I agree.”
I emptied the chambers of the revolver’s cartridges. I put them into my pocket. I pushed the weapon carefully under the newspapers again.
“And now that the strain of the past five minutes is over, I suppose I may have a look at my casket?”