"Never mind the accent now, Terence. We mean business. We want you to tell us all you know about Wyck and his cabby, Dick Burton. If you can give us any particulars that will assist us, we will pay for the information," said Hal, producing two or three sovereigns and jingling them together.
As soon as Terence saw the sovereigns all his Irish avarice was roused.
"You want information," asked he.
"Yes, that's what we want, Terence," said Reg.
"Well then, how much are ye prepared to pay for it, for I may say the information I can give is the rarest quality to be had anywhere at double the price."
"That's your game, is it, my boy," said Hal, rising. "Now I'll pay you what I think fit, and you'll take it and be satisfied, and no hanky panky."
"Oh, beg pardon, your honour. I did not mean—"
"Never mind what you mean. Understand what I mean. In the first place you will have to swear secrecy."
"What's that: must I join a secret society? Oh, no, I'd die first, for what would Biddy and Father Doolan say?"
"I only want you to promise not to repeat anything you hear, nor anything that takes place in this room."