I laughed a sinister laugh.
"Half!" he cried, still weakening. "Half!"
"You'll give me a check for £3,500 now, or £7,000 later," I said; and I laughed another sinister laugh, and went out of the room, followed by Chelubai.
He was shutting the door when the King of Finance ran to it, dragged it open, and cried: "Come back! Come back! I'll pay!"
We came back; and mopping the sweat from his brow, and swearing softly, he sat down at his desk and wrote out a check, payable to Bottiger, for £3,500.
"I don't think it's fair," he almost wailed. "If I'd not been betrayed by that rascal Gutermann, I'd have paid it cheerfully. But this isn't right. I do it on compulsion."
"Never mind," I said soothingly, as I put the check in my pocket. "You'll have another partner soon, and you'll need us again."
"Yes, and another time I'll have him knocked on the head! No more friendship for me! I wouldn't mind it half as much if I only knew that young swine, Gutermann, had been knocked on the head!" he cried savagely.
We were affable with him for a while, and tried to soothe his ruffled feelings. His last words were, "You don't know what it is to have been betrayed by a friend."
