Back again in the library Oswald De Gex took from his safe a bundle of hundred-pound Bank of England notes, and counted them out—fifty of them.
He held them in his hand with a sheet of blank notepaper bearing an address in Queen Anne Street, Cavendish Square, and a blank form. Thus he tempted me—and—and at last I fell!
When I had written and signed the certificate, he handed me the bundle of notes.
I now remember that, at that moment, he took some pastilles from his pocket and placed one in his mouth. I thought perhaps they were throat lozenges. Of a sudden, however, the atmosphere seemed to be overpoweringly oppressive with the odour of heliotrope. It seemed a house of subtle perfumes!
The effect upon me was that of delirious intoxication. I could hear nothing and I could think of nothing.
My senses were entirely confused, and I became utterly dazed.
What did it all mean?
I only know that I placed the wad of bank notes in the inner pocket of my waistcoat, and that I was talking to the millionaire when, of a sudden, my brain felt as though it had suddenly become frozen.
The scent of verbena became nauseating—even intoxicating. But upon Oswald De Gex, who was still munching his pastille, the odour apparently had no effect.