"A hundred pounds," said George Cannon, and, as he named the sum, his glance was hard and steady.
Edwin was startled. But immediately he began to readjust his ideas, persuading himself that after all the man could not prudently have asked for less.
"I can't give it you all now."
Cannon's face lighted up in relief and joy. His black eyes sparkled feverishly with the impatience of an almost hopeless desire about to be satisfied. Although he did not move, his self-control had for the moment gone completely, and the secrets of his soul were exposed.
"Can you send it me--in notes? I can give you an address in Liverpool." His voice could hardly utter the words.
"Wait a second," said Edwin.
He went to the safe let into the wall, of which he was still so naïvely proud, and unlocked it with the owner's gesture. The perfect fitting of the bright key, the ease with which it turned, the silent, heavy swing of the massive door on its hinges--these things gave him physical as well as moral pleasure. He savoured the security of his position and his ability to rescue people from destruction. From the cavern of the safe he took out a bag of gold, part of the money required for wages on the morrow,--he would have to send to the Bank again in the morning. He knew that the bag contained exactly twenty pounds in half-sovereigns, but he shed the lovely twinkling coins on the desk and counted them.
"Here," he said. "Here's twenty pounds. Take the bag, too--it'll be handier," and he put the money into the bag. Then a foolish, grand idea struck him. "Write down the address on this envelope, will you, and I'll send you a hundred to-morrow. You can rely on it."
"Eighty, you mean," muttered George Cannon.
"No," said Edwin, with affected nonchalance, blushing, "a hundred. The twenty will get you over and you'll have a hundred clear when you arrive on the other side."