“But pardon me,” interposed the gentle victim, “I have not. I should consider it presumption.”
“There, Mr. Riah!” said Fledgeby, “isn’t that handsomely said? Come! Make terms with me for Mr. Twemlow.”
The old man looked again for any sign of permission to spare the poor little gentleman. No. Mr. Fledgeby meant him to be racked.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Twemlow,” said Riah. “I have my instructions. I am invested with no authority for diverging from them. The money must be paid.”
“In full and slap down, do you mean, Mr. Riah?” asked Fledgeby, to make things quite explicit.
“In full, sir, and at once,” was Riah’s answer.
Mr. Fledgeby shook his head deploringly at Twemlow, and mutely expressed in reference to the venerable figure standing before him with eyes upon the ground: “What a monster of an Israelite this is!”
“ Mr. Riah,” said Fledgeby.
The old man lifted up his eyes once more to the little eyes in Mr. Fledgeby’s head, with some reviving hope that the sign might be coming yet.
“ Mr. Riah, it’s of no use my holding back the fact. There’s a certain great party in the background in Mr. Twemlow’s case, and you know it.”
“I know it,” the old man admitted.
“Now, I’ll put it as a plain point of business, Mr. Riah. Are you fully determined (as a plain point of business) either to have that said great party’s security, or that said great party’s money?”