No need to trouble myself about Pendarvon. While I still was fingering his paper, Burton brought me an envelope on which I recognised his handwriting.
"Mr. Pendarvon's servant waits for an answer, sir?"
The envelope contained a cheque and note.
"ARLINGTON STREET.
"Friday.
"Dear Townsend,--Enclosed find a cheque for £17,450. Short reckonings make long friends. Please give IOU's to bearer.
"Yours,
"C. P."
I packed up his IOU in an envelope, with a word of thanks, and handed them to Burton. Pendarvon was the sort of man one liked to play with--when one won. He might not prove so pleasant an opponent when one lost, and owed one's losings, and was pressed for cash. Asking for no grace, he gave none. Archie would have to find that four thousand in a week.
Poor dear old Archie!
What was I to do? I had as much chance of getting thirty-five thousand pounds out of him as out of the first beggar I might meet in the street. Well, I could afford to be magnanimous. I was like unto him that expecteth nothing. I might let him off--if his beggarly, but proud, Scotch blood would suffer it. It might be worth my while to put him under an obligation.