Mr. Taynton thought over this with his habitual deliberation.

“You will readily understand that all friendly relations between us are quite over,” he said.  “You have done a cruel and wicked thing, but I don’t see how I can resist it.  I should like, however, to have a little further talk about it, for which I have not time now.”

Mills rose.

“By all means,” he said.  “I do not suppose I shall be back here till nine in the evening.  I have had no exercise lately, and I think very likely I shall get out of the train at Falmer, and walk over the downs.”

Mr. Taynton’s habitual courtesy came to his aid.  He would have been polite to a thief or a murderer, if he met him socially.

“Those cool airs of the downs are very invigorating.” he said.  “I will not expect you therefore till half past nine that night.  I shall dine at home, and be alone.”

“Thanks.  I must be going.  I shall only just catch my train to town.”

Mills nodded a curt gesture of farewell, and left the room, and when he had gone Mr. Taynton sat down again in the chair by the table, and remained there some half hour.  He knew well the soundness of his partner’s reasoning; all he had said was fatally and abominably true.  There was no way out of it.  Yet to pay money to a blackmailer was, to the legal mind, a confession of guilt.  Innocent people, unless they were abject fools, did not pay blackmail.  They prosecuted the blackmailer.  Yet here, too, Mills’s simple reasoning held good.  He could not prosecute the blackmailer, since he was not in the fortunate position of being innocent.  But if you paid a blackmailer once, you were for ever in his power.  Having once yielded, it was necessary to yield again.  He must get some assurance that no further levy would take place.  He must satisfy himself that he would be quit of all future danger from this quarter.  Yet from whence was such assurance to come?  He might have it a hundred times over in Godfrey Mills’s handwriting, but he could never produce that as evidence, since again the charge of fraudulent employment of clients’ money would be in the air.  No doubt, of course, the blackmailer would be sentenced, but the cause of blackmail would necessarily be public.  No, there was no way out.

Two thousand pounds, though!  Frugally and simply as he lived, that was to him a dreadful sum, and represented the savings of at least eighteen months.  This meant that there was for him another eighteen months of work, just when he hoped to see his retirement coming close to him.  Mills demanded that he should work an extra year and a half, and out of those few years that in all human probability still remained to him in this pleasant world.  Yet there was no way out!

Half an hour’s meditation convinced him of this, and, as was his sensible plan, when a thing was inevitable, he never either fought against it nor wasted energy in regretting it.  And he went slowly out of the office into which he had come so briskly an hour or two before.  But his face expressed no sign of disquieting emotion; he nodded kindly to Timmins, and endorsed his desire to be allowed to come and see the grandson.  If anything was on his mind, or if he was revolving some policy for the future, it did not seem to touch or sour that kindly, pleasant face.