“A dead man’s waste papers,” responded he; “of no use to him or you, or any one save the Grande Marquise.”
“Valuable to me,” said I.
“None but the Grande Marquise and the writer would give you a penny for them!”
“Why should I not be my own merchant?”
“You can—to me. If not to me, to no one. You had your chance long ago, and you refused it. You must admit I dealt fairly with you. I did not move till you had set your own trap and fallen into it. Now, if you do not give me the letters—well, you will give them to none else in this world. It has been a fair game, and I am winning now. I’ve only used means which one gentleman might use with another. Had you been a lesser man I should have had you spitted long ago. You understand?”
“Perfectly. But since we have played so long, do you think I’ll give you the stakes now—before the end?”
“It would be wiser,” he answered thoughtfully.
“I have a nation behind me,” urged I.
“It has left you in a hole here to rot.”
“It will take over your citadel and dig me out some day,” I retorted hotly.