"Yes," said the baron; "and to avoid tedious arithmetic, and for the sake of convenience, I will agree to visit London, at what time you appoint, to bring with me these two masks, and to give my evidence against Yelland Mace, otherwise Walter Longcluse, my stay in London not to exceed a fortnight, for ten thousand pounds sterling." "I don't think, Baron, you can be serious," said Mr. Arden, as soon as he had recovered breath. "Donner-wetter! I will show you that I am!" bawled the baron. "Now or never, Sir. Do as you please. I sha'n't abate a franc. Do you like my offer?" On the event of this bargain are depending issues of which David Arden knows nothing; the dangers, the agonies, the salvation of those who are nearest to him on earth. The villain Longcluse, and the whole fabric of his machinations, may be dashed in pieces by a word. How, then, did David Arden, who hated a swindle, answer the old extortioner, who asked him, "Do you like my offer?" "Certainly not, Sir," said David Arden, sternly. "Then _was_ scheert's mich! What do I care! No more, no more about it!" yelled the baron in a fury, and dashed the two masks to pieces on the hearth-stone at his feet, and stamped the fragments into dust with his clumsy shoes. With a cry, old Uncle David rushed forward to arrest the demolition, but too late. The baron, who was liable to such accesses of rage, was grinding his teeth, and rolling his eyes, and stamping in fury. The masks, those priceless records, were gone, past all hope of restoration. Uncle David felt for a moment so transported with anger, that I think he was on the point of striking him. How it would have fared with him, if he had, I can't tell. "Now!" howled the baron, "ten times ten thousand pounds would not place you where you were, Sir. You fancied, perhaps, I would stand haggling with you all night, and yield at last to your obstinacy. What is my answer? The floor strewn with the fragments of your calculation. Where will you turn--what will you do now?" "Suppose I do this," said Uncle David fiercely--"report to the police what I have seen--your masks and all the rest, and accomplish, besides, all I require, by my own evidence as to what I myself saw?" "And I will confront you, as a witness," said the baron, with a cold sneer, "and deny it all--swear it is a dream, and aid your poor relatives in proving you unfit to manage your own money matters." Uncle David paused for a moment. The baron had no idea how near he was, at that moment, to a trial of strength with his English visitor. Uncle David thinks better of it, and he contents himself with saying, "I shall have advice, and you shall _most certainly_ hear from me again." Forth from the room strides David Arden in high wrath. Fearing to lose his way, he bawls over the banister, and through the corridors, "Is any one there?" and after a time the old woman, who is awaiting him in the hall, replies, and he is once more in the open street. CHAPTER LXXXII.