Slowly it was borne in upon me that the man was coolly braving me; nay, more, he was daring me, taunting me. Yet all that he was saying was most bitingly true.
“What are you leading up to?” I asked shortly; and he spread his hands in polite deprecation.
“Did I not say that we were at the impassable point, Mr. Page?”
“Yes; but you did not believe it. You are not talking to hear the sound of your own voice.”
“No; nor am I talking to gain time, though it may appear so to you. Indeed, I fancy there is more safety in haste. If your black-faced sergeant should happen in.... Now there is your chance, Captain Page. Sit quietly where you are, with your bare sword to keep me where I am, until your man comes back. Then you can shirk all responsibility and the sergeant—lacking a gentleman’s traditions—will do the rest.”
I thought this was the subtlest thrust of all; to point out delicately that I should be responsible for what Champe might do. But there was no escaping the conclusion.
“Come to the point of your bargaining, Mr. Askew,” I commanded. “You see a way out, and I don’t—other than the bloody one.”
“Ah; now we are coming upon some more habitable ground. Outwardly, you are a Loyalist, Mr. Page, and inwardly, I doubt not, a true patriot. I am neither. I had thought of asking a hundred guineas for this news I carry—it is not too much, you would say?—and it doesn’t matter a boddle to me whose money it is. In other words, your gold will have as true a ring in my ears as Sir Henry Clinton’s, or even Mr. Arnold’s.”
“Bah!” I said; “you would take my money one minute and sell me to the highest bidder the next.”
He nodded slowly. “You have pointed out a risk—a certain risk to yourself. I might not keep faith with you. Still, the chances are somewhat in your favor. The matter you touched upon while we were together in the street—the calumny connecting me with Major André’s misfortune—would have its weight. Having sold you your timely lump of silence and pocketed my price—”