Clement-Pell rubbed his brow with his handkerchief. He was driven into a corner.
“I have told you truth, Mr. Brandon, in saying that I am not able to repay the two hundred pounds. I am not. Will he take half of it?”
“I cannot tell. I have no authority for saying that he will.”
“Then I suppose he must come up here. As it has come to this, I had better see him. If he will accept one hundred pounds, and undertake not to molest me further, I will hand it over to him. It will leave me almost without means: but you have got me in a hole. Stay a moment—a thought strikes me. Are there any more of my creditors in the town at your back, Mr. Brandon?”
“Not that I am aware of. I have seen none.”
“On your honour?”
Mr. Brandon opened his little eyes, and took a stare at Pell. “My word is the same as my honour, sir. Always has been and always will be.”
“I beg your pardon. A man, driven to my position, naturally fears an enemy at every corner. And—if my enemies were to find me out here, they might be too much for me.”
“Of course they would be,” assented Mr. Brandon, by way of comfort.
“Will you go for Squire Todhetley? What is done, must be done to-day, for I shall be away by the first train in the morning.”