"Is that the devil speaking to me?" he muttered,
without looking up.
"No," said Monckton, jauntily, "only one of his servants, and your
best friend."
"My friend," said Bartley, turning his chair and looking at him with a
sort of dull wonder.
"Ay," said Monckton, "your friend; the man that found you brains and
resolution, and took you out of the hole, and put Hope and his
daughter in it instead; no, not his daughter, she did that for us, she
was so clever."
"Yes," said Bartley, wildly, "it was you who made me an assassin.
But for you, I should only have been a knave; now I am a
murderer--thanks to you."
"Come, governor," said Monckton, "no use looking at one side of the
picture. You tried other things first. You made him liberal offers, you
know; but he would have war to the knife, and he has got it. He is buried
at the bottom of that shaft."
"God forbid!"
"And you are all right."
"I am in hell," shrieked Bartley.
"Well, come out of it," said Monckton, "and let's talk sense. I--I read
the news at Derby, just as I was starting for London.
Pages:
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392