“You honour me, Mr. Moon—honour me, honour me—hn!—(leave us, you). Be seated, Mr. Moon, be seated.”
“I’ll stand,” said the merchant; “my business won’t take so long.”
“Nay, sit, and let me ring for a cup of chocolate. I failed—hn!—I fear I failed a little the other morning in my expression of esteem for you. To tell you the truth, Mr. Moon, I was for the moment a little chagrined. Let me make amends now—hn! hn! hn!”
“I think you know my handwriting,” said the merchant abruptly. “I’ve something here might advantage ye to read, and when ye’ve read it I’d be obliged if ye’d gi’e me an attestation ye’ve seen it. It might come in useful for me if aught were to happen to you.”
He handed him a copy of Monjoy’s letter. Cope read it with perfect composure.
“So you want a sort of receipt for this? Irregular, irregular, Mr. Moon. Suppose, with your indemnity in your pocket, you were to change your mind, and even to take a hand in my despatch yourself?...”
“I lose little for want o’ asking; and for changing my mind, I’ve been i’ one mind all along the sort ye are,” the merchant replied imperturbably.
Cope patted the air with his smooth deprecating little gesture.
“Tut, Mr. Moon; I did but jest. It’s a superfluous service you render me, but since you transact everything according to rule, I’ll give you your discharge of it—hn! hn!” Calmly he endorsed the letter and handed it back. “Take it, Mr. Moon. Ah, I wish you were not passionate. That’s a weakness. Generosity and passion, we cannot afford to entertain them. I say ‘we,’ because a valuable man is lost in you, Mr. Moon. Fatal, I fear; ah, me!—I tell you, my methods are the only methods. We may have to override the law a little now and then—lawyers will find us legal reasons enough after the event. True, an humble instrument like myself may once in a while be sacrificed; judges will tell us we have exceeded our duty——”
“I think I’ve warned ye o’ them that’ll sacrifice ye,” interrupted the merchant bluntly, “and now I’ll bid ye good morning.”