'The book,' said Mark—what it cost him to say this,—'the book was written by a friend of mine, who went abroad some time ago.'
'Indeed? Well, we should prefer to treat with him in person, of course, if possible.'
'It isn't possible,' said Mark, 'my friend was lost at sea, but he asked me to represent him in this matter, and I believe I know his wishes.'
'I've no doubt of it; but you see, Mr.—Mr. Ashburn, this must be considered a little. I suppose you have some authority from him in writing, to satisfy us (merely as a matter of business) that we are dealing with the right person?'
'I have not indeed,' said Mark, 'my friend was very anxious to retain his incognito.'
'He must have been—very much so,' said Mr. Fladgate, coughing; 'well, perhaps you can bring me some writing of his to that effect? You may have it among your papers, eh?'
'No,' said Mark, 'my friend did not think it necessary to give me one—he was anxious to——'
'Oh, quite so—then you can procure me a line or two perhaps?'
'I told you that my friend was dead,' said Mark a little impatiently.
'Ah, so you did, to be sure, I forgot. I thought—but no matter. Well, Mr. Ashburn, if you can't say anything more than this—anything, you understand, which puts you in a position to treat with us, I'm afraid—I'm afraid I must ask time to think over this. If your friend is really dead, I suppose your authority is determined. Perhaps, however, his—ahem—anxiety to preserve his incognito has led him to allow this rumour of his death to be circulated?'