“Nothing,” replies the Inspector; adding hurriedly, “Did you tell Miss Mundella you were coming to see me?”
“Thank the Lord, I’m in time!” exclaims Giles, quite ignoring the question put to him. “Now, listen ter me, Puttis, and don’t interrupt. Firstly, you mustn’t interfere with Angland. I’ll explain why directly. Secondly, I’m going to repudiate my agreement with Lileth.”
“Stay!” exclaims Puttis, half shutting his eyes and causing his parchment cheeks to warp once more into a sardonic smile. “In that case, must make fresh bargain.”
The low, wooden gate groans beneath Mr. Giles, as he shakes his podgy sides with a series of defiant laughs, which he raps out with a double, postman’s-knock-like abruptness.
“Ah!” thinks Inspector Puttis, looking at him, “he has the air of a man who holds good cards. Wonder what his game is?”
“I am going to repudiate my agreement,” repeats Mr. Giles. “I am going to repudiate everything.” His voice grows more cheerful and confident as he proceeds to disclose his intentions. “And if you’re the sensible chap I take you ter be, you’ll just listen ter what I’ve got ter say.”
The police officer leans over the low gate, and, nodding his head as a sign that he agrees to keep silent, prepares to listen. “I’ve had a letter from Angland,” the squatter continues, “which has altered my opinions of him. He writes from Palmerville to say he’s just returned from where that—where Dyesart the explorer pegged out.” The sonorous clanking of a bullock-bell, the signal for breakfast, here interrupts the speaker. “There’s tucker ready, so I’ll cut short what I was going to say. Angland writes to say he finds as I’m indebted to him, as heir to Dyesart, for a large amount; but don’t intend pressing me, as was his uncle’s wish. And then, blow me if he don’t say that he wants to marry Glory! When I told the gal blessed if she didn’t seem to expect it. And lastly, what d’yer think of this? If he ain’t found my little Georgie!” The speaker’s sensual face looks almost handsome for an instant, as a momentary blaze of parental pride and love warms the sinful old heart. “Yes, he’s found my little Georgie as I lost six year ago!”
In the excitement caused by disclosing the news of the discovery of his long-lost son and heir, Mr. Giles springs from the gate, and after performing a short pas seul upon the ground,—much resembling the clumsy prancings of a pole-prodded street bear,—he turns to Puttis, and suddenly seizing his hand wrings it violently.
“How did he get hold of boy?” asks the Inspector, as the squatter resumes his seat upon the gate.
“Oh, I’ll tell you all about that another time.” Mr. Giles’s face has resumed its ponderously would-be cunning expression as he goes on: “Not only that, but it appears Dyesart had just discovered a whacking big mountain of gold, or something of the sort, up there, just before he kicked the bucket,—a sort of second Mount Morgan, and I’m to have a share in it.”