“There!” said the banker, placing his purse and pocketbook into Darvil’s bands.
“And the watch?”
“The watch?—well there!”
“What’s that?”
The banker’s senses were sharpened by fear, but they were not so sharp as those of Darvil; he heard nothing but the rain pattering on the leaves, and the rush of water in the ditch at hand. Darvil stooped and listened—till, raising himself again, with a deep-drawn breath, he said, “I think there are rats in the haystack; they will be running over me in my sleep; but they are playful creturs, and I like ‘em. And now, my dear sir, I am afraid I must put an end to you!”
“Good Heavens, what do you mean? How?”
“Man, there is another world!” quoth the ruffian, mimicking the banker’s solemn tone in their former interview. “So much the better for you! In that world they don’t tell tales.”
“I swear I will never betray you.”
“You do?—swear it, then.”
“By all my hopes of earth and heaven!”