Losely threw himself at length on the sofa—(new morocco with spring cushions)—and folded his arms.
“You could only give me five minutes—they are gone, I fear. I am more liberal. I give you your own time to consider. I don’t care if I stay to dine; I dare say Mrs. Poole will excuse my dress.”
“Losely, you are such a—fellow! If I do give you the four pounds you ask, will you promise to shift for yourself somehow, and molest me no more?”
“Certainly not. I shall come once every week for the same sum. I can’t live upon less—until—”
“Until what?”
“Until either you get Mr. Darrell to settle on me a suitable provision; or until you place me in possession of my daughter, and I can then be in a better condition to treat with him myself; for if I would make a claim on account of the girl, I must produce the girl, or he may say she is dead. Besides, if she be as pretty as she was when a child, the very sight of her might move him more than all my talk.”
“And if I succeed in doing anything with Mr. Darrell, or discovering your daughter, you will give up all such letters and documents of mine as you say you possess?”
“‘Say I possess!’ I have shown them to you in this pocket-book, Dolly Poole—your own proposition to rob old Latham’s safe.”
Poole eyed the book, which the ruffian took out and tapped. Had the ruffian been a slighter man, Poole would have been a braver one. As it was—he eyed and groaned. “Turn against one’s own crony! So unhandsome, so unlike what I thought you were.”
“It is you who would turn against me. But stick to Darrell or find me my daughter, and help her and me to get justice out of him; and you shall not only have back these letters, but I’ll pay you handsomely—handsomely, Dolly Poole. Zooks, sir—I am fallen, but I am always a gentleman.”