“I’m sure of it, up to the present. Of course there might be an accident, but with him and Mrs. Wiles both off the premises at night, it’s hardly likely; and I never let the bag out of my sight while it’s in the room with them, hardly out of my hand.”
“I should like to trust him, but it’s hardly fair to put such a strain on his loyalty.”
“Much safer not, sir, as long as we’re not driven to it. After all though, I believe the fellow is out to redeem his character, his isn’t an unblemished record.”
“But the work, the physical labor, entailed on you, Hector!”
“Make yourself easy about that, sir. I’m as strong as a horse. The work’s good for me. Remember I’ve had four years’ service.”
Mr. Saffron smiled pensively. “It would have been funny if we’d met over there! You and I!”
“It would, sir,” laughed Beaumaroy. “But that could hardly have happened without some very curious accident.”
The old man harked back. “Yes, a few more good consignments, and we can think in earnest of your start.” He was warming his hands, thin yellowish hands, at the fire now, and his gaze was directed into it. Looking down on him, Beaumaroy allowed a smile to appear on his lips, a queer smile, which seemed to be compounded of affection, pity, and amusement.
“The difficulties there remain considerable for the present,” he remarked.
“They must be overcome.” Once again the old man’s voice became sharp and even dictatorial.