"Is that the devil speaking to me ?" he muttered, without looking up.
"No," said Monckton, jauntily, "only one of his servants, and your best friend." "My friend," said Bartley, turning his chair and looking at him with a sort of dull wonder.
"Ay," said Monckton, "your friend; the man that found you brains and resolution, and took you out of the hole, and put Hope and his daughter in it instead; no, not his daughter, she did that for us, she was so clever." "Yes," said Bartley, wildly, "it was you who made me an assassin.
But for you, I should only have been a knave; now I am a murderer--thanks to you." "Come, governor," said Monckton, "no use looking at one side of the picture.

You tried other things first.

You made him liberal offers, you know; but he would have war to the knife, and he has got it.

He is buried at the bottom of that shaft." "God forbid!" "And you are all right." "I am in hell," shrieked Bartley.
"Well, come out of it," said Monckton, "and let's talk sense.

I--I read the news at Derby, just as I was starting for London.