"What?" ejaculated Cater, astounded. "A thousand pounds?"
"One thousand pounds exactly," replied Dorrington complacently, "and a penny for the receipt stamp—if you want a receipt."
"Oh," said Cater, "you're mad. A thousand pounds! Why, it's absurd!"
"Think so?" remarked Dorrington, reaching for his hat. "Then I must see if Mr. Flint agrees with you, that's all. He's a man of business, and I never heard of his refusing a certain nine hundred per cent. profit yet. Good-day!"
"No, stop!" yelled the desperate Cater. "Don't go. Don't be unreasonable now—say five hundred and I'll write you a cheque."
"Won't do," answered Dorrington, shaking his head. "A thousand is the price, and not a penny less. And not by cheque, mind. I understand all moves of that sort. Notes or gold. I wonder at a smart man like yourself expecting me to be so green."
"But I haven't the money here."
"Very likely not. Where's your bank? We'll go there and get it."
Cater, between his avarice and his fears, was at his wits' end. "Don't be so hard on me, Mr. Dorrington," he whined. "I'm not a rich man, I assure you. You'll ruin me!"
"Ruin you? What do you mean? I give you ten thousand pounds for one thousand and you say I ruin you! Really, it seems too ridiculously cheap. If you don't settle quickly, Mr. Cater, I shall raise my terms, I warn you!"