“Who is a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“D—— him! Where can I find him?”
“Will you sign a receipt for the three thousand five hundred livres, which I am pining to hand over to you, my friend, and I will tell you?”
“Where’s the money?”
“In my pocket.”
Without further words Heron dragged the inkhorn and a sheet of paper towards him, took up a pen, and wrote a few words rapidly in a loose, scrawly hand. He strewed sand over the writing, then handed it across the table to de Batz.
“Will that do?” he asked briefly.
The other was reading the note through carefully.
“I see you only grant me a fortnight,” he remarked casually.
“For that amount of money it is sufficient. If you want an extension you must pay more.”