‘It was directed to my son,’ he said, turning to Hugh, ‘and you did quite right to bring it here. I opened it on my own responsibility, and you see what I have done with it. Take this, for your trouble.’
Hugh stepped forward to receive the piece of money he held out to him. As he put it in his hand, he added:
‘If you should happen to find anything else of this sort, or to pick up any kind of information you may think I would like to have, bring it here, will you, my good fellow?’
This was said with a smile which implied—or Hugh thought it did—‘fail to do so at your peril!’ He answered that he would.
‘And don’t,’ said his patron, with an air of the very kindest patronage, ‘don’t be at all downcast or uneasy respecting that little rashness we have been speaking of. Your neck is as safe in my hands, my good fellow, as though a baby’s fingers clasped it, I assure you.—Take another glass. You are quieter now.’
Hugh accepted it from his hand, and looking stealthily at his smiling face, drank the contents in silence.
‘Don’t you—ha, ha!—don’t you drink to the drink any more?’ said Mr Chester, in his most winning manner.
‘To you, sir,’ was the sullen answer, with something approaching to a bow. ‘I drink to you.’
‘Thank you. God bless you. By the bye, what is your name, my good soul? You are called Hugh, I know, of course—your other name?’
‘I have no other name.’