"Oh, d—n you, it's in the fire, I suppose!" Hefferom cried. "You and he know. Rowan's your man, and he's the sort to die game. But he didn't kill Sinclair for nothing. I wouldn't mind betting that that deed has been burnt to ashes, but even then, I know a little too much, eh?"
Deane shrugged his shoulders. "You know a great deal too much," he said. "I am to understand, then, finally, that you want me to buy your silence?"
"Put it that way if you choose," Hefferom answered, "only I warn you that I haven't come here on a child's game. This is a big business,—a big business for me and for the girl. She must have her share, and I mine."
"And the amount?"
"One hundred thousand pounds. Remember that it has to be divided."
"In other words," remarked Deane, "I am to buy your silence as to these matters upon which you have spoken, for the sum of one hundred thousand pounds?"
"It is too little," Hefferom declared. "The mine is worth ten times as much—the mine and your position."
"If I give you this sum," Deane asked, "do I understand that it closes the whole affair? You must remember that I do not admit having even seen this deed you spoke of. Supposing it turns up in somebody else's hands?"
Hefferom laughed ironically. "We'll guarantee you against that," he declared.
"That's easy to say," Deane objected, "but I don't see how. Come, I will be perfectly truthful. I haven't got that deed. If it should be still in existence, and be used against me after I have paid you this sum of money, I should be in somewhat an unfortunate position."