He led the way down a dark passage, strewn with huge pieces of limestone, over which master and apprentice scrambled, into an inner chamber, where the white walls were grimed with smoke and the black embers of an extinguished fire lay in the middle of the floor.
“My sanctum sanctorum,” said the goldsmith, as he fixed the butt of his candle to a piece of rock by means of drops of melted wax poured from the lighted end. “This is where I meditate; this is where I mature my plans for the betterment of the human species.”
“Rats! You’re darn well hidin’ from the police.”
“My son, you grieve me; your lack of the poetic shocks me.”
“Oh, garn! You robbed those mails, that’s about the size of it.”
“Robbed?—no, sir. Examined?—yes, sir. I was the humble instrument in the hands of a great rascal, a man of unprincipled life, a man who offered bribes, heavy bribes—an’ I took ’em. I had need of money.”
“First comes the bender and then the bribe. I know, boss. But where d’you get the gold?”
Benjamin stooped over a mass of bedding, rolled up in a tent-fly, and brought to light a canvas bag.
“My private store,” he said, “mine and Bill’s. We go whacks. We’re doing well, but expediency demands that for a short while I should retire into private life. And, by the hokey, I can afford it.”
“Gold?” asked Jake, peering at the bag.