Wilkins glanced helplessly at Herbert, who was examining a bottle of iodine on the mantelpiece. Then he rolled convulsively upon his side.
"Oh, my leg!" he groaned, thrashing around until his head came within a few inches of McAllister's face. "It's rotten," he whispered under his breath. "Don't touch it! . . . Oh, my pore leg! . . . Just pretend to pass me the money. . . . 'Ere, tyke yer stock, if yer 'ave to! . . . I wouldn't rob yer, sir, indeed I wouldn't! . . . W'ere's yer money?"
A gentle smile came over McAllister's placid countenance. Who said there was no honor among thieves? Who said there was no such thing as gratitude and self-sacrifice? He did not realize at the moment that it was the only thing Wilkins could possibly have done to save himself. His simple faith accepted it as an act of devotion upon the other's part. With a swift wink at his old servant, McAllister stepped back to where Herbert was standing.
"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "How can I be sure this sick man's name is really Murphy, or that he is the fellow that worked at the mine? I guess I'd better have him identified before I give up my money."
"Don't be foolish!" growled Herbert. "Of course he's the man! My brother gave his description in the letter, and he fits it to a T. And then he has the certificate. What more do you want?"
"I don't know," repeated McAllister hesitatingly. He shook his head and shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know. I guess I won't do it."
Herbert seemed annoyed.
"Look here," he demanded of the sick engineer, "are you so awful sick you can't come over to the company's offices and be identified?"—adding sotto voce to McAllister, "if he does, old Van Vorst will probably buy the stock himself, and we'll lose our chance."
The sick man moaned and grumbled. By 'ookey! 'Ere was impudence for yer. Come an' rob 'im of 'is stock, an' then demand 'e be identified.
"We'll take you in our cab. It ain't far," urged Herbert, nodding vigorously at Wilkins from behind McAllister.