"Kemp, I'll go you halves—there! Get it, an' there's four hundred for you. Eight hundred an' odd quid, in a pocket-book. Come, that's worth it, ain't it? Eight hundred an' odd quid—in a leather pocket-book! An' I'll go you halves."
Captain Nat started at the words, and stood for a moment, staring. "Eight hundred!" he repeated under his breath. "Eight hundred an' odd quid. In a leather pocket-book. Ah!" And the stare persisted, and grew thoughtful.
"Yes," replied Viney, now a little more himself. "Now you know; and it's worth it, ain't it? Don't waste time—they're turning him over themselves. You can manage all these chaps. Go on!"
"I'll see if anything's there," answered Captain Nat. "More I can't; an' if there's nothing that's an end of it."
He went down to where the men were bending over the body, to disengage the tow-line. He looked again at the drawn face under the gaping forehead, and said something to the men; then he bent and patted the soddened clothes, now here, now there; and at last felt in the breast-pocket.
Meantime Viney stood feverishly on the stairs, watching; fidgeting nervously down a step, and then down another, and then down two more. And so till Captain Nat returned.
The old man shook his head. "Cleaned out," he reported. "Cleaned out, o' course. Hit on the head an' cleaned out, like many a score better men before him, down these parts. Not a thing in the pockets anywhere. Flimped clean."
Viney's eyes were wild. "Nothing at all left?" he said. "Nothing of his own? Not a watch, nor anything?"
"No, not a watch, nor anything."
Viney stood staring at space for some moments, murmuring many oaths. Then he asked suddenly, "Where's this blind chap? Where can I find Blind George?"