“That is all,” replied Foxwell, “and ’tis something Mr. Thornby has no right to possess. I ask you, as a man of honour, to restore it to me.”
“In proper time, sir. Meanwhile, Miss Foxwell, fold the paper as it was, and place it in my waistcoat pocket.—’Tis well done; though I dare not thank you, for you do this under compulsion.”
“By the Lord, sir,” Thornby burst out at last, “this here’s robbery, sir!—rank robbery under arms! You may carry it off for the moment—I’m not moving, I’m only warning you, for your own good—but this sort of thing is bound to end in a halter, sir.”
“Possibly; but, as I have said, a crime or two more can make no difference to a man in my situation. You were kind enough to tell me that in this drawer was the means of making Mr. Foxwell consider your wishes. Let us see if it will make him consider mine. Mr. Foxwell, whatever the document contains, I’m not like to use it against Georgiana’s kinsman. But if I am taken prisoner here, ’twill no doubt fall into Mr. Thornby’s hands again. Your interest, then, lies in my escape.”
“Damn Foxwell’s interest!” broke in Thornby. “I’m the man to bargain with. If you restore that letter and them pistols—’tis my property, that letter, for all he says; mine, bought and paid for, as I can prove by Jeremiah Filson—”
This name, in relation to the letter, was another surprise to Foxwell. But ere Thornby could proceed farther, Everell commanded silence.
“You are very good, Mr. Thornby, but I will not bargain with you. I will forego the chaise and horses, release you from your promise,—on condition of your entering that closet. Come, I mean it. You shall be let out in good time. ’Tis no such bad place—the lady suffered no harm there. Into the closet, if you please. I’ll return your pistols—by and by.” Everell, while speaking, had come around the end of the table, and was now threatening Thornby with both pistols at close quarters. “Into the closet, sir! By heaven, don’t try my patience!—a man who may be hanged three times over doesn’t balk at the chance of a fourth. In, in!”
Slowly retreating from the weapons as they were thrust almost into his face, Thornby backed into the closet, glaring futile wrath.
“’Tis well,” said Everell; “if you keep silence there, I engage not to fire through the door.” Having put one pistol in his coat pocket, he locked the door and repocketed the key. He turned now to Foxwell, who had been pondering. “I must borrow your horses, sir, to the first posting-place. I will send them back from there, with these pistols and this key. You can then release this gentleman, if he be not freed by other means before that;—he will soon begin to make himself heard. I think you will now see fit to speed my parting; for, look you, if I am taken in my flight, Heaven knows whose hands this letter may fall into.”
“And if you are not taken?” inquired Foxwell.