"An inadvertence on my part, if you please, Mr. Bullard."
"Oh, go to the devil! You can't blackmail me. Go and work your passage, if you like."
The other took a step forward. "Do you think I had better see Mr. Lancaster? I could explain to him that he is less guilty in the matter of Christopher's brother than he imagines himself to be. I could even prove—"
"Lancaster is unwell—"
"My disclosures might make him feel better—eh?"
Bullard felt himself being cornered. He reflected for a moment; then—"How are you going to satisfy me that the papers you say you hold are the originals?"
"I'm afraid you must take my word for it."
"Your word—ugh! Will you bring them here at nine o'clock to-night?"
"Will you bring £500 in five-pound notes?"
It seemed that they had reached a deadlock. Bullard was thinking furiously.