Wilkinson grinned.
"I'm going to give myself up to Murgatroyd," he said.
Leech winced. It was a blow between the eyes and he felt it.
"The devil you are!" he cried. "But why?"
"Because," said Wilkinson, slowly, "I know chaps like you. A man who can be bought for a million, can't be bought for ten million, that's what I mean."
"Explain yourself," stammered Leech.
"When you get the million you'll come back for more. You'll never lose sight of me—eh?" Wilkinson's grin widened as he saw the telltale flush upon the cheek of the man before him. "You'd come back for more and more. That I wouldn't mind, but in the end when I refused you'd call my bluff—you'd kill the goose that was laying the golden egg. You'd give me up one year, two years hence—you know you would."
Leech was silent; he was floored.
"Besides," went on Wilkinson, calmly, "there would always be the danger of my discovery by Murgatroyd. The sword of Damocles would forever be over my head. I'll make an end of it; I'll give myself up...."