The Count laughed contemptuously.
"Twenty-two?"
"Do not jest, m'sieur. Nothing but thirty."
"Twenty-eight is final. It is the price I had determined upon."
De Guise considered, bit his lip, glanced at the open cheque-book—always a potent argument—and bowed in his grand fashion. Lepardo changed his spectacles for a larger pair, reached for a pen, peering, and overturned a massive inkstand. The ink poured in an oily black stream across the leathern top of the table.
"Ah, clumsy!" he cried. "Blotting-paper, quick."
The other took some from a drawer and sopped up the ink. Lepardo rumbled apologies, and, when the ink had been dried up, made out a cheque for £28,000, payable to "The Count de Guise, in settlement for the entire effects contained in his flat, No. 59b Bedford Court Mansions," signed it "I. Levi," and handed it to de Guise, who was surveying his inky hands, usually so spotless, with frowning disfavour.
The Count took the cheque, and Lepardo stood up.
"One moment, m'sieur."
Lepardo sat down again.