"I should be obliged," said Bullard slowly, "if you would talk sense."
"I've written it down," Teddy said, and passed him a sheet of paper bearing these words:
"I, Francis Bullard, London Managing Director of the Aasvogel Syndicate, hereby acknowledge that I have this day received the sum of … being the full amount due to the Syndicate by Mr. Robert Lancaster, whose debt is hereby discharged."
"What the devil is this?"
"Now don't frown and crumple it up and throw it away, as if you were on the stage, Mr. Bullard," said Teddy. "You were never more in real life than you are now. Take your pen, fill in the blank, sign at foot, and return to me. And listen! The man you lied so well about at the inquest, entered your office by the door, at ten-seventeen last night."
Bullard's countenance took on a curious shade. Almost in his heart the young man pitied him.
"If the man entered by the door, you know more about his movements than I do," came the retort. "Why didn't you say so at the inquest?"
"Mr. Bullard, I give you two minutes by my watch to complete and sign that receipt."
"You cursed young fool, do you think to blackmail me?"
"If you like to call it that—well, I'm afraid I must accept the word," said Teddy, watch in hand. "But somehow one doesn't mind so much blackmailing a blackguard.—Sit still! You can't afford two inquests in a week-end."