He, Henry Trefusis, would take on that offer, trap or no trap, and become sole Master again of the thing he had made.
He did not turn to switch on the light. He wrote rapidly in the half darkness ten lines on a sheet of his paper, signed it, and held it out to Terrard. Something which corresponds to honor in that world forbade Terrard even to glance at it. He folded it rapidly and thrust it into his wallet.
“He had decided.”
“And what’s your price?” the deep voice sneered in the dark. Terrard gave him Charlbury’s figures.
“I suppose you want that in writing too?” said the voice again.
“No,” said Charlie, “I trust you.” With better light he would have seen the very slight mounting smile upon the other’s face.
“Good-night.”
“Good-night.”