though the drift of my argument was slowly filtering through his brain.
"Phew!" he gasped. "I see! You are a doctor d'Escombe. You could help me—if you only dared!"
I nodded in the affirmative.
"A risky business! You'd want a big price, and—well, I can't pay very much, though to me it means life or death!"
"A thousand," I said. "I'll manage it for that, and free you."
"And take all risks?" he whispered.
"On two conditions. That you pay me a couple of hundred now—as a retainer, as it were—and that you are for ever silent."
I saw in an instant that he swallowed the bait. He was just a little frightened at the suggestion, but ten minutes later, in the broad, open light of day with the sunshine streaming into that little room, he purchased the life of his enemy. He wrote me a cheque for two hundred pounds.
Then, fearing that one day or other he might condemn me, I compelled him to scribble a few lines to the effect that the sum was paid to me "for private services rendered."
That, my dear fellow, together with the existence of the cheque, would be evidence
