“What’s that?” he said.
“A check.”
“What’s the good of that to me?” said Seth. “I want money—gold, notes.”
Bartley Bradstone forced a smile.
“Do you think I keep a thousand pounds in the house in gold or notes?” he said. “You’re not so ignorant as you pretend; you have only to take this check to the bank to get it turned into money—gold or notes.”
Seth looked at him with half-closed eyes.
“And suppose you stop it?” he said.
Bartley Bradstone smiled again.
“Is that likely?” he said. “Do you think that I am likely to run any more risk? Give me the letter. Take the check and leave me in peace.”
Seth took the torn note from his pocket and looked from it to Bartley Bradstone’s white face, doubtfully and suspiciously.