The House of the Falcon
bribe and bribe well, also to get together horses and men. Unfortunately, I have no ready funds. So I was forced to come to you."
"Money," the American repeated slowly. "How—how much will you need?"
"Perhaps four hundred pounds. Better, six hundred." Monsey was weighing his man in the balance, shrewdly.
"Three thousand dollars. Confound this fever! Mr. Monsey, if I could straddle a ho'se I'd light out after those scoundrels with my gun in my hand. Why, I've paid three thousand dollars for a single race ho'se in my time."
He stretched out a trembling hand. "You don't know, Monsey. I—I've had news from home. I am bankrupt."
Lying back on the pillow he pressed his hand against his eyes. "A year ago I could have borrowed ten times three thousand dollars on my word alone. But—I reckon they'd want security now, and I have none. Fraser-Carnie—no, if he has not sent after Edith, I cannot ask it from him."
Monsey's eyes hardened. The cards were not falling as he supposed. Rand could not pay blackmail or ransom. "I wouldn't go to Fraser-Carnie," he suggested quickly. "But perhaps I can manage"
To be sure, he reasoned, blackmail was not to be thought of now. But—there was Edith. Was it not his luck that had taken the girl beyond the borders of civilization, where a man could keep what he could take?
"Perhaps I can borrow among my—my friends here, Mr. Rand. Of course in time you will be able to foot the bills. Your assurance"
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