“You are becoming more sensible,” he said; “very fair question to ask. My price is the faithful fulfilment of your contract with my chief.”
“I have made no contract with him.”
“You have opened negotiations; he is ready to come to terms with you. You have only to name your price.”
“I have no price,” Mr. Sabin said quietly, “that he could pay.”
“What Knigenstein can give,” Felix said, “he can give double. The Secret Service funds of Russia are the largest in the world; you can have practically a blank cheque upon them.”
“I repeat,” Mr. Sabin said, “I have no price that Prince Lobenski could pay. You talk as though I were a blackmailer, or a common thief. You have always misunderstood me. Come! I will remember that the cards are upon the table; I will be wholly frank with you. It is Knigenstein with whom I mean to treat, and not your chief. He has agreed to my terms—Russia never could.”
Felix was silent for a moment.
“You are holding,” he said, “your trump card in your hand. Whatever in this world Germany could give you, Russia could improve upon.”
“She could do so,” Mr. Sabin said, “only at the expense of her honour. Come! here is that trump card. I will throw it upon the table; now you see that my hands are empty. My price is the invasion of France, and the restoration of the Monarchy.”
Felix looked at him as a man looks upon a lunatic.