"My gold!" groaned the miser. "If I lose that I lose everything. It will be my death. Good Mr. Randall, have pity upon me. I am sure you won't say anything that——"
"Will bring you to state's prison," said Randall, coolly.
"They—Eleanor and her son—need never know it."
"Unless I tell them."
"But you won't."
"That depends upon circumstances. How much will you give me to keep the thing secret?"
"What will I give you?"
"Precisely. That is what I have been so long in coming at. You see, Peter, that the secret is worth something. Either I reveal it to the parties interested, in which case I wouldn't give that," snapping his fingers, "for your chance of retaining the property, or I keep silence if you make it worth my while."
"Pity me," said the miser, abjectly, sinking on his knees before Randall; "pity me and spare my gold."
"Pity you!" said Randall, contemptuously. "Why didn't you pity your employer? You must make up your mind to pay me my price."