It isn't one you would forget."
"Was it one that he could prove?"
"Easily."
"Could I?"
"Anybody could."
"Well, and what's your price?"
"Fifty pounds."
"Nonsense! I'm not a rich man like Mr. Steel."
"I don't take less from anybody--not much less, anyhow!"
"Not twenty in hard cash?"
"Not me; but look here, mister, you show me thirty and we'll see."
The voice drew uncomfortably close. And there were steps upon the
cross-roads at last; they were those of one advancing with lumbering
gait and of another stepping nimbly backward. The latter laughed aloud.
"Did you really think I would come to meet the writer of a letter like
yours, at night, in a spot like this, with a single penny-piece in my
pocket? Come to my cottage, and we'll settle there."
"I'm not coming in!"
"To the gate, then. It isn't three hundred yards from this. I'll lead
the way."
Langholm set off at a brisk walk, his heart in his mouth. But the
lumbering steps did not gain upon him; a muttered grumbling was their
only accompaniment; and in minute they saw the lights. In another minute
they were at the wicket.
"You really prefer not to come in?"
There was a sly restrained humor in Langholm's tone.
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