THE PAPERS
pared you. But when I do produce you it will be as a value."
"You'll get so much for me?" the poor gentleman quavered.
"I shall be able to get, I think, anything I ask. So we divide." And Bight jumped up.
Marshal did the same, and, while, with his hands on the back of his chair, he steadied himself from the vertiginous view, they faced each other across the table. "Oh, it's too wonderful!"
"You're not afraid?"
He looked at a card on the wall, framed, suspended and marked with the word "Soups." He looked at Maud, who had not moved. "I don't know; I may be; I must feel. What I should fear," he added, "would be his coming back."
"Beadel's? Yes, that would dish you. But since he can't———!"
"I place myself," said Mortimer Marshal, "in your hands."
Maud Blandy still hadn't moved; she stared before her at the cloth. A small sharp sound, unheard, she saw, by the others, had reached her from the street, and with her mind instinctively catching at it, she waited, dissimulating a little, for its repetition or its effect. It was the howl of the Strand, it was news of the absent, and it would have a bearing. She had a hesitation, for she winced even now with the sense of Marshal's intensest look at her. He couldn't be saved from himself, but he might be, still, from Bight; though it hung of course, her chance to warn him, on what the news would be. She thought with concentration, while her friends unhooked their overcoats, and by the time these garments were donned she was on her feet. Then she spoke. "I don't want you to be 'dished.'"
He allowed for her alarm. "But how can I be?"
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