"No games, or you'll repent it. I'm playing high, and I'll stand no humbug. Look here, old man," he continued, turning to Brettison, "you sit down there, whoever you are. I don't want to hurt you. I warn you, for I may turn rusty. What you've got to do is to take a sensible view of the case, and advise him to do the same. Sit down." He spoke as fiercely as if it were to an obstinate dog, and Brettison sank back in an easy-chair, looking stunned. "That's right. Now you, Stratton, you'd better squat down, too. I've come on particular business. I expected you to turn nasty, and I'm quite prepared." He tapped his breast where he had felt for the revolver, and a look of low cunning crossed his heavy face. Stratton also sank into a chair--not so much in obedience to the man's words as to gain time and settle upon some plan of action. "Come, that's sensible," said the man, smiling. "I see we shall come to good terms suitable to all parties. I hate quarrelling, specially when all the good cards are in my hand. It's like being forced to take a cowardly advantage of the other side." Brettison turned a hopeless look upon Stratton, and the man saw it and said sharply: "Never mind him. I'll tell you, as you were not here. I propose a handsome sum down. Hallo! he has pocketed those notes that were on the table. But it doesn't matter, they're easily brought out. A handsome sum down, and a regular quarterly payment. He has only to agree to that, and James Barron goes about in the dark and he never sees him. It'll be just as if James Barron was shot and drowned, as the papers said, in an attempt to escape off The Foreland one dark night about a year ago. Ugh! it was rough work," he added, with a shudder, "and I deserve a little extra for leaving the lady alone for so long. Now, then, isn't that a fair offer?" Brettison's lips moved as he sat there perfectly prostrated, wishing that in his zeal he had not interfered; for had he not, the man before them would have been dead and powerless to work all this evil--unless discovery had made him a more deadly enemy still. "I say, isn't that a fair offer?" he repeated. "Silence gives consent. There we are, then. Come, Stratton. They must be ready to start for the church by this time, so look alive and let's get the business done. Just a few strokes of the pen, the handing over of some filthy lucre in the shape of notes--Bank of England, mind," he said with a peculiar laugh, "none of your Russian roubles. By jingo, what notes those were, though. They didn't find 'em out for years. Well?" He looked from one to the other as they sat watching him in helpless dismay. "Come; don't fool. You are keeping the lady waiting, and old Jerrold is a regular Tartar, I can tell you. He will not stand any nonsense. I know him of old. Come, what is it to be?" He looked fixedly at Stratton, as if urging him to speak, but no words came.