Tellier steadied his hand by a mighty effort, and watched him, his eyes shining. But the face of the Englishman did not change—not in a single line, not by the merest shadow.
"Very interesting, no doubt," said Collins, dropping his glass, "to those who care for backstairs intrigue. Is it this note that you wish to sell?"
"Oh, not that," corrected Tellier, with a little offended gesture, his self-assurance back in an instant. "You mistake me—I am not of that sort at all. On the other hand, it is friendship for you which has brought me here. I have no wish to injure you, monsieur, and you yourself, of course, perceive fully what a disaster it would be should this note be placed in certain hands."
"To what adventure does the note refer?" queried Collins.
"It refers to the adventure of Lord Vernon with the two Americans on the afternoon of his arrival. He has, no doubt, mentioned it to you."
"Lord Vernon has had no adventure since his arrival here," retorted
Collins, coldly. "But go ahead with your story."
"As I was saying," continued Tellier, "I am a poor man. I have my future to consider—I cannot afford to throw away this opportunity which chance has placed in my hands. I will be reasonable, however—I will not ask too much—a hundred thousand francs—"
"Tellier," Collins interrupted, with a gesture of weariness, "I have not the least idea what you mean. But I do know that you have been hoaxed, that you are the victim of some deception, that somebody is making a fool of you. A hundred thousand francs! And for that note! Why, man, you are mad or very, very drunk! We don't want the note. We have no concern in it!"
"No concern in it!" shrieked Tellier. "When it is written by Lord
Vernon!"
"Lord Vernon did not write it," retorted Collins, coolly.