He had resumed his seat,
the cigar still projecting at an insolent angle from the corner
of his mouth. In front of him, in the full glare of the
electric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil
over her face, a mantle drawn round her chin. Her breath came
quick and fast, and every inch of the lithe figure was quivering
with strong emotion.
"Well," said Milverton, "you've made me lose a good night's rest,
my dear. I hope you'll prove worth it. You couldn't come any
other time -- eh?"
The woman shook her head.
"Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. If the Countess is a
hard mistress you have your chance to get level with her now.
Bless the girl, what are you shivering about? That's right!
Pull yourself together! Now, let us get down to business."
He took a note from the drawer of his desk. "You say that
you have five letters which compromise the Countess d'Albert.
You want to sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good.
It only remains to fix a price. I should want to inspect the
letters, of course. If they are really good specimens ---
Great heavens, is it you?"
The woman without a word had raised her veil and dropped the
mantle from her chin.
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