“My real name,” Mr. Sabin said, turning a little as though to face his companion, “is Victor Duc de Souspennier. It suits me at present to travel under the name by which I was known in England and by which you are in the habit of addressing me. Mr. Watson, I’m leaving England because a certain scheme of mine, which, if successful, would have revolutionised the whole face of Europe, has by a most unfortunate chance become a failure. I have incurred thereby the resentment, perhaps I should say the just resentment, of a great nation. I am on my way to the country where I concluded I should be safest against those means of, shall I say, retribution, or vengeance, which will assuredly be used against me. Now what I want to say to you, Mr. Watson, is this—I am a rich man, and I value my life at a great deal of money. I wonder if by any chance you understand me.”
Mr. Watson smiled.
“I’m curious to know,” he said softly, “at what price you value yourself.”
“My account in New York,” Mr. Sabin said quietly, “is, I believe, something like ten thousand pounds.”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Mr. Watson remarked, “is a nice little sum for one, but an awkward amount to divide.”
Mr. Sabin lit a cigarette and breathed more freely. He began to see his way.
“I forgot the lady,” he murmured. “The expense of cabling is not great. For the sake of argument, let us say twenty thousand.”
Mr. Watson rose.
“So far as I’m concerned,” he said, “it is a satisfactory sum. Forgive me if I leave you for a few minutes, I must have a little talk with Mrs. Watson.”
Mr. Sabin nodded.