“He knows what’s in them, my lord. He has been searching for them for weeks.”
The young man weighed this, and Toft’s courage rose, and his confidence. The trumps were in his hand, and though for a moment he had shrunk before the other’s heavy jaw he was glad now that he had come; more glad when the big man after a long pause asked quietly, “What do you want?”
“Five hundred pounds, my lord.”
The other laughed, and Toft did not like the laugh. “Indeed? Five hundred pounds? That’s a good deal of money!”
“The information is worth that, or it is worth nothing.”
“I quite agree!” the peer answered lightly. “You’re a wit, my man. But that’s not saying you’ve a good case. However, I’ll put you to the test. You know where the papers are?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Very good. There’s a piece of paper. Write on one side the precise place where they lie. I will write on the other a promise to pay £500 if the papers are found in that place, and are of the value you assert. That is a fair offer.”
Toft stood irresolute. He thought hard.
My lord pushed the paper across. “Come!” he said; “write! Or I’ll write first, if that is your trouble.” With decision he seized a quill, held it poised a moment, then he wrote four lines and signed them with a flourish, added the date, and read them to himself. With a grim smile he pushed the paper across to Toft. “There,” he said. “What more do you want, my man, than that?”