“I will name no amount. I decline to barter away Liane’s happiness.”
“You wish me to name a sum—eh? Well, what do you say to five hundred pounds down? Recollect how much you’ve already had off me.”
The other’s lip curled contemptuously, as he shook his head.
“Well, I’ll double it. A thousand.”
Their gaze met. Max Richards again shook his head.
Zertho, with a sudden movement, pulled his wallet from his pocket, withdrew his cheque-book, and taking up a pen from the table, scribbled out a draft upon the Credit Lyonnais, and filled it in for fifty thousand francs.
Tearing it out roughly he tossed it across to his companion, exclaiming with a bitter smile,—
“There you are. I’ve doubled it a third time. Surely that’s sufficient as lip-salve?”
The other stretched forth his hand unsteadily, hesitated for a single instant, then slowly his thin eager fingers closed upon it.