Ralph kept watch from his window.
“If she comes, all the worse for her,” he murmured to himself. “I won’t move a finger to help her.”
Nevertheless a great weight lifted from his spirit when he saw William appear alone, advancing cautiously, looking about him anxiously, at the gate of the garden. He went straight to Lord Bakersfield, and they talked. Their conversation was brief, doubtless they settled the terms of the transaction. Then Lord Bakersfield rose, and the two of them came towards his suite. They came in silence, William ill at ease and suspicious, Lord Bakersfield thoughtful and frowning.
At the foot of the steps he said coldly: “Go in, Monsieur, I don’t want to be mixed up in this dirty business myself. My secretary knows all about it and [[103]]will pay you the money for the letters, if their contents are what you say they are.”
He turned on his heel and went along the path back to his bench.
William hesitated, then went up the steps. Ralph hurried to the doors between the two rooms. The door on his side was already opened, he opened the other an inch or two and listened, awaiting the explosion. It was clear that William did not know Marescal, but believed him to be Lord Bakersfield’s secretary. Ralph found that he could see the Commissary in a mirror on the opposite wall of the room.
“Here are the fifty thousand-franc notes and a cheque on a London bank for the same amount. Have you the letters?” said Marescal in sharp, staccato accents.
“No,” said William.
“What do you mean by ‘no?’ In that case there’s nothing doing. My instructions are strict. The money for the letters only,” snapped Marescal.
“I will mail them on to you.”