The baronet took a pistol from beneath his cloak, and showed Fillmore that it had been discharged. “I just came from there,” he remarked. “I gave an account of two or three of ’em, first.”
“Of course you know your life is in danger?”
“I’m dangerous myself,” replied the other, with a short laugh.
“You had better lose no time in getting out of London.”
“Not I! I’m satisfied. I shall give myself up.”
“That may be the best thing you can do. Did you know this was coming on?”
“I suppose so. It had to come some time. I haven’t known much, one way or another, lately. If Tom had been alive, I should have tried to stave it off. It’s all one to me now, damn ’em! I wish I could have ruined all England.”
“You have done enough, Bendibow. What was the cause of this?”
The baronet laughed again. “The cause of it? Ask the historians of the eighteenth century. If Abraham Bendibow had never succeeded, I never should have failed. It was bound to happen, from the beginning. Have you got anything to drink, Fillmore?”
The lawyer shook his head. “And you had better let brandy alone for the present,” he said. “Your head has not been right, as it is, for the last four months.”