The little bookseller bowed, grimly still, but without answer.
“If then,” said the clergyman, biting under the irony that would make itself felt in his words, “you find this clew—find this marvellous deposit of wealth—there are laws of treasure-trove: you cannot think for a moment that I will, that I can, counsel secrecy—allow Richard to share in the profits of a felony——”
“Felony, sir!” cried Joshua.
“Is not that what a hoodwinking of the law would amount too? You agree with me, Mr. Paxton?”
“Yes, yes—O yes, of course!” assented Uncle Jenico, faintly.
“Harkee, Mr. Parson!” cried Joshua, in a heat. “I throw the word in your teeth. I am no suborner, sir, no, nor glorifier of my own ignorance neither. Be sure I don’t know the law better than you, before you tax me in advance with cheating it.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Sant, smiling. “I don’t know the law on the subject, I confess.”
“Then take this, sir, for your rebuke,” said the other, sourly; “and be less apt—for a clergyman—to damn without book. The law of England—I do know it, and have reason to—takes its definition of treasure-trove from the jurist Paulus, who lays down that ‘vetus depositio pecuniae cujus dominus ignoratur,’ that is to say, ancient concealed treasure of which the lord of the soil is ignorant, becomes, being discovered, the property of the Crown, if presumptively deposited by some one who at the time intended to reclaim it.”
“Exactly,” put in Mr. Sant. “And yet, in the face of——”
“Will you permit me?” interrupted the bookseller, with a manner of most frosty sarcasm. “For all your cloth, sir, I would not have you on a jury, lest you stopped the case before hearing the other side.”