“That’s about the figure—as I’ve reckoned it,” assented Burchill. “But you’ll have a lot left when you’ve paid me ten per cent.”
Barthorpe fidgeted in his chair.
“When did you find out this secret?” he asked.
“Got an idea of it just before I left Jacob, and worked it all out, to the last detail, after I left,” replied Burchill. “I tell you this for a certainty—when I’ve told you all I know, you’ll know for an absolute fact, that the Herapath property is—yours!”
“Well!” said Barthorpe. “What do you want me to do?”
Burchill moved across to a desk and produced some papers.
“I want you to sign certain documents,” he said, “and then I’ll tell you the whole story. If the story’s no good, the documents are no good. How’s that?”
“That’ll do!” answered Barthorpe. “Let’s get to business.”
It was one o’clock in the morning when Barthorpe left Calengrove Mansions. But the eyes that had seen him enter saw him leave, and the shadow followed him through the sleeping town until he, too, sought his own place of slumber.