My lord shook his head decidedly. “If you want that for it, take it elsewhere, my dear Markham.”
Markham stowed it safely away. “With your leave, sir, we’ll ha’ done with this foolery. I know you for Colney. I hold a paper that would send you to the gallows-tree. Come out into the open, sir, and be plain with me. I’ve no animosity towards you; I wish you no harm. But you’ll pay well for the letter.”
My lord rose, and made a fine gesture. “I perceive that you would be a friend indeed. I embrace you! We understand one another.”
“As to that,” said Markham, rather bewildered by this sudden effusion, “I am neither your friend nor your foe. But I hold you in the hollow of my hand.”
“You do, my dear Markham, you do! And if I were given the choice of a hand to be held in, I should choose yours. My word for it, sir, my solemn oath!”
“I might have taken this paper to Rensley,” Markham went on, disregarding. “I thought of it; I weighed it well. I decided it was more vital to you to get the paper than Rensley. And I came as you see.”
“A master-mind!” said my lord. “I drink to it.” He did so, with considerable flourish. “You must accept my homage, Mr Markham. I descry in you a shrewd brain. I venerate it; we were made for each other. Rensley could never have given you what I can give you. My dear friend, I have something which might have been designed expressly for you. But still you don’t drink.”
Mr Markham tossed off the wine, and set his glass down again. “You’re mighty pleased over it,” he remarked.
“I am, sir. You have divined me correctly. I could embrace you.”
“It is not your embraces I want, my lord.”