“He, he!” he sniggered, “it’s all right, Tresco—I only wanted to test you. You shall have the money. I can see you’re a staunch man such as I can depend on.”
He rose suddenly, and went to the big safe which stood against the wall, and from it he took a cash-box, which he placed on the table.
“Upon consideration,” he said, “I have decided to pay you in cash—it’s far safer for both parties.”
He counted out a number of bank notes, which he handed to the goldsmith.
Tresco put down his hat, put on his spectacles, and counted the money. “Ten tens are a hundred, ten fives are fifty, ten ones are ten,” he said. “Perfectly correct.” He put his hand into the inner pocket of his coat, and drew out a packet, which was tied roughly with a piece of coarse string. “And here are the letters,” he added, as he placed them on the table. Then he put the money into his pocket.
Crookenden opened the packet, and glanced at the letters.
Tresco had picked up his hat.
“I am satisfied,” said the merchant. “Evidently you are a man of resource. But don’t forget that in this matter we are dependent upon each other. I rely thoroughly on you, Tresco, thoroughly. Let us forget the little piece of play-acting of a few minutes ago. Let us be friends, I might say comrades.”
“Certainly, sir. I do so with pleasure.”
“But for the future,” continued Crookenden, “we had better not appear too friendly in public, not for six months or so.”