`I hear you. Go on!'

`I say that notwithstanding what has passed, I will be plain with you.'

`You said that before. And I have told you once I heard you say it. Go on.'

`You are a little chafed, but I can make allowance for that, and am, fortunately, myself in the very best of tempers. Now, let us see how circumstances stand. A day or two ago, I mentioned to you, my dear fellow, that I thought I had discovered--'

`Will you hold your tongue?' said Jonas, looking fiercely round, and glancing at the door.

`Well, well!' said Montague. `Judicious! Quite correct! My discoveries being published, would be like many other men's discoveries in this honest world; of no further use to me. You see, Chuzzlewit, how ingenuous and frank I am in showing you the weakness of my own position! To return. I make, or think I make, a certain discovery which I take an early opportunity of mentioning in your ear, in that spirit of confidence which I really hoped did prevail between us, and was reciprocated by you. Perhaps there is something in it; perhaps there is nothing. I have my knowledge and opinion on the subject. You have yours. We will not discuss the question. But, my good fellow, you have been weak; what I wish to point out to you is, that you have been weak. I may desire to turn this little incident to my account (indeed, I do--I'll not deny it), but my account does not lie in probing it, or using it against you.'

`What do you call using it against me?' asked Jonas, who had not yet changed his attitude.

`Oh!' said Montague, with a laugh. `We'll not enter into that.'

`Using it to make a beggar of me. Is that the use you mean?'

`No.'

`Ecod,' muttered Jonas, bitterly. `That's the use in which your account does lie. You speak the truth there.'

`I wish you to venture (it's a very safe venture) a little more with us, certainly, and to keep quiet,' said Montague. `You promised me you would; and you must. I say it plainly, Chuzzlewit, you MUST. Reason the matter. If you don't, my secret is worthless to me: and being so, it may as well become the public property as mine: better, for I shall gain some credit, bringing it to light. I want you, besides, to act as a decoy in a case I have already told you of. You don't mind that, I know. You care nothing for the man (you care nothing for any man; you are too sharp; so am I, I hope); and could bear any loss of his with pious fortitude. Ha, ha, ha! You have tried to escape from the first consequence. You cannot escape it, I assure you. I have shown you that to-day. Now, I am not a moral man, you know. I am not the least in the world affected by anything you may have done; by any little indiscretion you may have committed; but I wish to profit by it if I can; and to a man of your intelligence I make that free confession. I am not at all singular in that infirmity. Everybody profits by the indiscretion of his neighbour; and the people in the best repute, the most. Why do you give me this trouble? It must come to a friendly agreement, or an unfriendly crash. It must. If the former, you are very little hurt. If the latter--well! you know best what is likely to happen then.'

Jonas left the window, and walked up close to him. He did not look him in the face; it was not his habit to do that; but he kept his eyes towards him--on his breast, or thereabouts--and was at great pains to speak slowly and distinctly in reply. Just as a man in a state of conscious drunkenness might be.

`Lying is of no use now,' he said. `I did think of getting away this morning, and making better terms with you from a distance.'