"That ain't a pouch, Stevy," said Grandfather Nat; "an' mine's here in my pocket. Show me."
He opened the flap, and stood for a moment staring. Then he looked up hastily, turned his back to the bar, and sat down. "Whew! Stevy!" he said, with amazement in his eyes and the pocket-book open in his hand; "you're in luck; luck, my boy. See!"
Once more he glanced quickly over his shoulder, toward the bar; and then took in his fingers a folded bunch of paper, and opened it. "Notes!" he said, in a low voice, drawing me to his side. "Bank of England notes, every one of 'em! Fifties, an' twenties, an' tens, an' fives! Where was it?"
I told him how I had run out at his heels, had trodden on the thing in the dark, and had slipped it into my pocket, supposing it to be his old leather tobacco-pouch, from which he had but just refilled his pipe; and how I had forgotten about it, in my excitement, till the people were gone, and the brandy had quelled my faintness.
"Well, well," commented Grandfather Nat, "it's a wonderful bit o' luck, anyhow. This is what the chap was pulling away from him when I opened the door, you can lay to that; an' he lost it when he hit the post, I'll wager; unless the other pitched it away. But that's neither here nor there.... What's that?" He turned his head quickly. "That stairfoot door ain't latched again, Stevy. Made me jump: fancied it was the other."
There was nothing else in the pocket-book, it would seem, except an old photograph. It was a faded, yellowish thing, and it represented a rather stout woman, seated, with a boy of about fourteen at her side; both very respectably dressed in the fashion of twenty years earlier. Grandfather Nat put it back, and slipped the pocket-book into the same cash-box that had held the watch with the M engraved on its back.
The stairfoot door clicked again, and my grandfather sent me to shut it. As I did so I almost fancied I could hear soft footsteps ascending. But then I concluded I was mistaken; for in a few moments Mrs. Grimes was plainly heard coming downstairs, with an uncommonly full tread; and presently she presented herself.
"Good law, Cap'en Kemp," exclaimed Mrs. Grimes, with a hand clutching at her chest, and her breath a tumultuous sigh; "Good law! I am that bad! What with extry work, an' keepin' on late, an' murders under my very nose, I cannot a-bear it—no!" And she sank into a chair by the stairfoot door, letting go her brush and dustpan with a clatter.
Grandfather Nat turned to get the brandy-bottle again. Mrs. Grimes's head drooped faintly, and her eyelids nearly closed. Nevertheless I observed that the eyes under the lids were very sharp indeed, following my grandfather's back, and traversing the shelf where he had left the photograph; yet when he brought the brandy, he had to rouse her by a shake.