"I see!" said Mr. Effingham. "Now the question is, how to work her out of this. What would be the best way to frighten her and get her under your thumb?"
"What is your notion on that point?"
"I scarcely know yet! It will want a little thinking over, but I've no doubt I shall be able to hit upon something. Is she pretty comfortable where she is--likely not to give it up without a struggle?"
"You may take your oath she will not move unless compelled--it is for you to find the something that will compel her."
"Exactly. Well, I don't think that there will be much difficulty about that--at least," said he, correcting himself, for he feared that comparative facility might lessen the reward--"at least, not much difficulty for a man whose head's screwed on the right way. Now about the payment?"
Sir Charles opened a drawer in his desk, and from a little rouleau of gold counted out ten sovereigns. The chink of the money sounded deliciously in Mr. Effingham's hungry ears.
"I will give you these ten sovereigns now," said Sir Charles; "and if you succeed in carrying out all I have told you, I will give you fifty more."
"Will you? Well, I always say what I think, and I say that's liberal. Now look here! Very likely I shan't see you again; perhaps I shall have to step it with her, in order to be sure she's safe off, and not dodging, or likely to walk back again. So when you find she's really gone, just you send a cheque for the fifty, made payable to bearer, mind, and not crossed, to this address;" and bending down over the table he took a pen and scrap of paper and wrote: Mr. Effingham, Mr. Johnson's, The Brown Bear, Shakespeare Street, Strand, London. "Will you do that?"
"I will."
"Having said so as an honourable gent, I know you'll keep your word. Now how am I to see her?"