“Excellently thought out,” Jacob confessed.
“Say, let’s cut out this chin music,” Hartwell interposed. “Just what are you going to do about it?”
“I am going to sign the cheque,” was the unhesitating reply.
They cut the bonds which secured his right hand. Jacob wrote the cheque according to their directions, signed it carefully and handed it over. They passed it to Sybil.
“In as small notes as you can get,” Mason enjoined. “Come straight back here.”
She nodded and left the room, with an insolent little glance at Jacob. The latter leaned back in his chair.
“You see, I am quite amenable,” he said. “And now, don’t you think that as I am a very small man, and feeling exceedingly unwell from the stuff on the handkerchief which that nigger of yours thrust down my throat, and there are two of you, both big fellows, you could loosen my cords for me? This is damned uncomfortable, and I hate the melodramatic appearance of it.”
“Will you promise, upon your honour, to make no effort whatever to get away before Miss Bultiwell’s return?” Mason demanded.
“I give you my word that I will do nothing of the sort.”