“Proof!” cried Potts, desperately; “who would believe any thing against a man like me, John Potts—a man of the county?”
“English law is no respecter of persons,” said the stranger. “Rank goes for nothing. But if it did make class distinctions, the witnesses about these documents are of great influence. There is Thornton of Holby, and Colonel Henry Despard at the Cape of Good Hope, with whom Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. have had correspondence. There are also others.”
“It’s all a lie!” exclaimed Potts, in a voice which was a little tremulous. “Who is this fool who has been making out papers?”
“His name is Philips; true name Lawton. He tells a very extraordinary story; very extraordinary indeed.”
The stranger’s peculiar voice was now intensified in its odd, harsh intonations. The effect on Potts was overwhelming. For a moment he was unable to speak.
“Philips!” he gasped, at length.
“Yes. You sent him on business to Smithers & Co. He has not yet returned. He does not intend to, for he was found out by Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co., and you know how timid he is. They have succeeded in extracting the truth from him. As I am in a hurry, and you, too, must be busy,” continued the stranger, with unchanged accents, “I will now come to the point. These forged papers involve an amount to the extent of—Brandon forgeries, £93,500; Thornton papers, £5000; Bank of Good Hope, £4000; being in all £102,500. Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. have instructed me to say that they will sell these papers to you at their face without charging interest. They will hand them over to you and you can destroy them, in which case, of course, the charge must be dropped.”
“Philips!” cried Potts. “I’ll have that devil’s blood!”
“That would be murder,” said the stranger, with a peculiar emphasis.
His tone stung Potts to the quick.