"I must know more than you have told me," he went on. "How did the letter come into your possession? And why have you waited more than five years to make use of it?"
Mr. Timmins was not averse to answering the questions. He pulled his chair closer, and in low tones spoke for some minutes, revealing all that Nevill wished to know, and much besides that was of interest.
"You'll find me a square-dealing customer," he concluded, "and I expect the same of a gent like you."
Nevill shrank from him with ill-concealed disgust and repulsion; contact with the lower depths of crime affected his aristocratic sensibilities.
"You swear that you have all the papers?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And they are in a safe place?"
"If I was to drop over dead, sir, they wouldn't be found in a hundred years."
"We'll proceed to the next question," Nevill said, abruptly. "To speak with brutal frankness, Mr. Timmins, what is your price?"
"One thousand pounds in cash, when the papers are handed over," was the prompt reply, "and a signed agreement to pay me as much more when you come into—"