‘You are wrong,’ said the doctor quietly. ‘It was worth nothing then because I was a penniless adventurer. It is worth nothing now because it is ten years old, and your claim is barred by the Statute of Limitations.’
For a moment the two men sat eyeing each other in silence. Marston was the first to break it.
‘I think you’ll pay it, in spite of the statute.’
‘Well,’ answered the doctor, taking a pipe from the mantelshelf and filling it, ‘I may, or I may not. That depends on you. I suppose you’ve something better to offer me than this worthless piece of paper for £500?’
‘Perhaps I have.’
‘Take a pipe from the rack,’ said the doctor. ‘Here’s some tobacco. Tobacco is a wonderful sedative, and we want to talk this matter over calmly.’
Marston lit his pipe and settled himself down in an arm-chair. He was quite ready for a combat, if combat it was to be.
‘Let us review the situation, Ned,’ said the doctor. ‘Some years ago you left this country suddenly. At that time we were all down on our luck. You had run through your money leading a fast life, so had I, so had Gurth Egerton. We were all gamblers and loose fish, and our principal haunt was Josh Heckett’s betting-office and gambling den in Soho. There was only one rich man among us, and we turned rooks to make him our pigeon. That was Ralph Egerton, Gurth’s cousin. He was a drunken, reckless fool, and we thought him an easy prey. He came night after night to the den, but he didn’t seem to care for play; he lost with a good grace, and we never could quite make out why he came. One night there was a furious quarrel there; blows were struck in the struggle, the table was knocked over, and the light extinguished. Suddenly Ralph Egerton shrieked out that he was stabbed, and when a light was struck we found him lying on the floor with a knife in his breast and the lifeblood pouring out. No one knew who had struck the blow. He could not say. There were half-a-dozen strangers present, and they got away directly, fearing to be mixed up in a gambling-house scandal. The knife was one which had been used to cut the corks of the champagne-bottles, and had been lying on the table.’
‘Well, I know all about that,’ interrupted Marston.
‘Excuse me; let me review the situation my own way. We were all terrified, for we knew what would come out if an inquest was held. Old Heckett was like a madman, and beside himself with terror. Gurth Egerton was as white as a ghost, and stood trembling like a child. You and I were the only ones who kept our heads. I was just admitted to the profession, and I examined the wound, and found that it was a bad one. We held a council and agreed what to do. I bandaged the wound up tightly and swathed the body round so that no blood could escape; then you went and got a four-wheel cab, and we put him in. We carried him between us, talking to him as if he were a drunken man, to deceive the cabman. We drove here, to this very villa, which was his house, and carried him in. I am quite correct in my story so far, am I not?’