"Come, come! this
contingency resolves itself into a matter of bargaining after all.
What is the least you will take?"
"The least we will take," said Mr. Merriman, "is nineteen-
thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine-pounds-nineteen-shillings-
and-elevenpence-three-farthings. Ha! ha! ha! Excuse me, Mr.
Gilmore. I must have my little joke."
"Little enough," I remarked. "The joke is just worth the odd
farthing it was made for."
Mr. Merriman was delighted. He laughed over my retort till the
room rang again. I was not half so good-humoured on my side; I
came back to business, and closed the interview.
"This is Friday," I said. "Give us till Tuesday next for our
final answer."
"By all means," replied Mr. Merriman. "Longer, my dear sir, if
you like." He took up his hat to go, and then addressed me again.
"By the way," he said, "your clients in Cumberland have not heard
anything more of the woman who wrote the anonymous letter, have
they?"
"Nothing more," I answered. "Have you found no trace of her?"
"Not yet," said my legal friend. "But we don't despair. Sir
Percival has his suspicions that Somebody is keeping her in
hiding, and we are having that Somebody watched.
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