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Page 74
"I want better proof than this, my man."
"Ain't you satisfied? Look at the date of the letter, an' where it was
written, an' what it says. Could I invent such a thing?"
"No; you couldn't," Nevill admitted. "You have the original letter, you
say?"
"I've had that and other papers for years, hid away in a safe place,
which is where they lie now. It's only lately I looked into them deep,
so to speak, and saw what they might be worth to me. I studied them,
sir, and by putting things together I found there were three persons
concerned--three chances for me to try."
"You are a cunning fellow," said Nevill. "Why did you bring the letter
to me?"
"Because it pointed that way. I knew you were the biggest bird, and the
one most likely to pay me for my secret. It was quite a different matter
with the others--"
"You haven't seen them?"
"No fear!" Mr. Timmins answered, emphatically. "I spotted you as my man
from the first, and I'm glad you've got the sense to look at it right.
I hope we understand each other."
"I don't think there can be much doubt about that," replied Nevill,
whose quick mind had grasped the situation in all its bearings; he
realized that there was no alternative--save ruin--but to submit to the
scoundrel's terms. But the bargain must be made as easy as possible.
"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--"
"Do you take me for a millionaire?" cried Nevill. "It's all right about
the agreement, but a thousand pounds is utterly beyond my means. Say two
hundred."
Mr. Timmins shook his head, and glanced significantly about the room.
"I can't take a shilling less," he firmly replied. "I know a good thing
when I have it, sir."
Nevill temporized. He argued and entreated, but without avail. He had an
inflexible customer to deal with, who would not be put off with anything
but his pound of flesh. A decision that night was impossible, and
arrangements were made for another meeting within a few days. Then Mr.
Timmins filled his pocket with cigars and took his leave.
Nevill let him out into Jermyn street, locked the door, and returned
to his sitting-room. His face was distorted with evil passions, and he
spilled the brandy on the table as he poured some into a glass.
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