“You shall, dear sir. And I will take that letter you keep in your cunning pocket. It’s all so delightfully simple.”
“That won’t quite do, I’m afraid,” said Mr Markham. “I want more for it than that. I’ll see the colour of your money, my lord.”
My lord folded the paper. He was still smiling. “It would disappoint you, my friend. It is just the same colour as everyone else’s. And you never will see it.”
“I shan’t, eh? You prefer me to take my letter to Rensley?”
“Infinitely,” said my lord. “You won’t see the colour of his money either. You must look ahead, my friend; you must look far, and consider the situation well. You have not thought on it deeply enough. I am not Lord Barham yet. You have your doubts of me; you are a very clever man, Mr Markham; I felicitate you. I am not going to tell you whether my claim is true or not. There is not, perhaps, the need. You seem to understand me so well, my dear sir. Now, you want a large sum for your letter. You realise, of course, that unless my claim is just, I can have nothing approaching it. All I have lies in the letter I hold, and I offer it to you. I can give no more.”
This speech of my lord’s had an uncomfortable effect on Mr Markham. My lord appeared to admit an imposture, which was not now at all what Mr Markham wanted to have proved. He looked warily, but decided to ignore the hint. “You can give me a written promise, my lord. You haven’t thought of that, have you?”
“I have not. You always contrive to understand me. It is a delight to me, for so few people do! I have a great objection to parting with my money; I do positively abhor the very thought of it. Rather than contemplate it I would relinquish my claim, and vanish!”
Mr Markham’s expression changed. “What?”
“Yes, my friend, yes. You understand me yet again. Refuse my offer; take your letter to Rensley — What happens?”
Mr Markham was looking at him with a fascinated eye. “Well, what does happen?” he asked.