the mattress
extricated five leather wallets which he threw one by one upon the
table.

"Here is the King's money," he said curtly; "you could never have taken
it from me by force, but I give it over to you willingly now. If within
a week from now I hear that the King has not received it, I will
proclaim you a liar and a thief."

"Sir . . . you dare . . ."

"Nay! we'll not quarrel. I don't want to do you any hurt. You know from
experience that I could kill you or wring your neck as easily as you
could kill a child; but Mlle. Crystal's love is like a protecting shield
all round you, so I'll not touch you again. But don't ask me to measure
my words, for that is beyond my power. Take the money, M. de St. Genis,
and earn not only the King's gratitude but also Mlle. Crystal's, which
is far better worth having. And now, I pray you, leave me to rest. You
must be tired too. And our mutual company hath become irksome to us
both."

He turned his back on St. Genis and sat down at the table, drawing
paper, pen and inkhorn toward him, and with clumsy, left hand began
laboriously to form written characters, as if St. Genis' presence or
departure no longer concerned him.

An importunate beggar could not have been more humiliatingly dismissed.
St. Genis had flushed to the very roots of his hair. He would have given
much to be able to chastise the insolent Englishman then and there. But
the latter had not boasted when he said that he could wring Maurice's
neck as easily with his left hand as with his right, and Maurice within
his heart was bound to own that the boast was no idle one. He knew that
in a hand-to-hand fight he was no match for that heavy-framed,
hard-fisted product of a fog-ridden land.

He would not trust himself to speak any more, lest another word cause
prudence to yield to exasperation. Another moment of hesitation, a shrug
of the shoulders--perhaps a muttered curse or two--and St. Genis picked
up one by one the wallets from the table.

Clyffurde never looked up while he did so: he continued to form awkward,
illegible characters upon the paper before him, as if his very life
depended on being able to write with his left hand.

The next moment St. Genis had walked rapidly out of the room. Bobby left
off writing, threw down his pen, and resting his elbow upon the table
and his head in his hand, he remained silent and motionless while St.
Genis' quick and firm footsteps echoed first along the corridor, then
down