“But to whom does Mr. de Crespigny leave his estate in this genuine will?” asked Mrs. Monckton.
The Frenchman smiled, and looked at Eleanor thoughtfully for a few moments before he answered her.
“Wait a little, madame,” he said; “that is my little secret. Nothing for nothing is the rule here below. I have told you too much already. If you want to know more you must pay me.”
“Prove that I spoke the truth upon that night,” exclaimed Eleanor, “and I promise you that my husband, Gilbert Monckton, shall reward you handsomely.”
“But if monsieur should repudiate your promise, madame, since he has not authorized you to give it? I am not very wise in your English law, and I would rather not mix myself in this affair. I do not want to be produced as witness or accomplice. I want, all simply, to get a price for this document. I have something to sell. You wish to buy it. Name your price.”
“I cannot,” answered Eleanor; “I have no money. But I might get some, perhaps. Tell me, how much do you want?”
“A thousand pounds.”
Eleanor shook her head despondently.
“Impossible!” she said; “there is no one, except my husband, from whom I could get such an amount, and I could not ask him for money until after I had proved Launcelot Darrell’s infamy.”
The Frenchman watched her closely. He saw that she had spoken the truth.