My lord’s expression of polite interest underwent no change. “But you should tell this to my cousin Rensley,” he pointed out.
“You may be thankful I don’t, sir. It’s nothing to me: my information goes to the highest bidder. If you haggle, my lord, Rensley shall have it. But I don’t think you will haggle.”
“I’m sure I shan’t,” my lord answered. “I am not a tradesman.”
“You’re a damned Jack-of-all-trades, in my opinion!” said Markham frankly. “You assume a mighty lofty tone, to be sure — ”
“No, no, it comes quite naturally,” my lord interpolated sweetly. “I assume nothing; I am a positive child of nature, my dear sir. But you were saying?”
“Ay, it doesn’t interest you at all, does it?” Mr Markham achieved a sneer.
My lord was apologetic. “Well, not just at the moment, my dear friend of old days. But presently I feel you will arrive at a climax which will astound me. I am all expectation.”
“It may well appal you, my lord. I have here” — he laid his hand on the breast of his coat significantly — “something that spells ruin for you.”
“What, in your heart?” My lord was puzzled.
“No, sir! In my pocket!” snapped Markham.