on."

"Well, you said you'd be content with _moderate_ riches. Now you've got
them. With me it's different. I want a good deal more than anything
moderate."

He paused, but no answer came from below.

"Well, what I want to propose is this. You hold on to what you've got,
and I'll stick to what I've got. Is that a bargain?"

"No."

"Now, Fanning, do be reasonable. By-the-by, you remember when we first
talked about this place. I told you I had an object in trying to make a
pile, and rather chaffed you on having one too. Said I believed our
object was the same. Remember?"

"Well?"

"Well, I little thought how I was hitting the right nail on the head.
Now, by agreeing to my suggestion, you can benefit us both--benefit all
three of us, in fact. For you behaved devilish well over that other
business, mind, devilish well. Look here now. Agree that we shall
start quits from this moment--that we each stick to what we've got on
us--mind you, we've had no division yet, and you may have as many stones
as I have--or nearly so--for all I--for all either of us--know. Give me
your straight word of honour that you agree to this, and--I'll let down
the rope again."

Here again the speaker fell unconsciously into an inconsistency so
paradoxical as to be almost grotesque. Had the position been reversed,
would he have scrupled at passing his own "word of honour" a score of
times, if necessary, in order to get out of the present quandary. And
once out of it would he have hesitated to break his pledged word equally
a score of times, and to pursue his claim to the uttermost. Not for a
moment would he have so scrupled. Yet he was prepared to accept this
other man's word in perfect good faith. Wherein is indeed a paradox,
and, as we have said, a grotesque one.

"And if I refuse?" said Renshaw.

"If--? In that case I shall not let down the rope again."

"I do refuse, then."

The stern determined tone left no room for doubt. That, once it was
formed, there was no shaking this man's resolution Maurice was well
aware.

"Then you are committing suicide," he said.

"And you murder--murder in the blackest and most diabolical form in
which it has ever been committed. And--believe me or not, as you
please--I would rather be myself here, than be you, at large with the
results of your villainy. And those results--mark my last words--you
will never benefit by."

To this there was no reply, and some minutes went by