There was no answer, but the silence was enough. Wedge relaxed his attitude slowly.
“Is it money you need?” he asked, after a pause.
“What’s the good of offering us money? Once you got out of this place, you would give us away to the police. Yes, we need money, but not from you.”
One thought dominated Wedge’s mind. It was clear that the situation did not demand any unnecessary heroism. If anything could effect his escape he was perfectly justified in making use of it.
“I will give you a thousand pounds, and will promise not to put the affair in the hands of the police,” he said.
“He offers money, and gives his word of honour to say nothing to the police!” exclaimed the other, looking at the men behind Wedge.
There was an outburst of violent opposition. They were wildly excited. They were all round Wedge, shouting and gesticulating and brandishing their fists in his face. He stood impassively in the centre of them with his hands bound. What was this riot? Why did the eyes of these men shine so strangely?
“Two thousand,” he said steadily.
“Impossible!” The man at the table jumped up. “This is only a waste of time.”
He caught up the lantern and went out. The others, pushing Wedge before them, followed. They passed through a long stone corridor, down some narrow steps, and stopped before an iron door. Wedge heard the fumbling of keys, the creak of a rusty lock, and the door swung open. The interior was dark.