“I 'll take care he shall not know which path to take, Driscoll; trust me for that. Remember that the documents we have are all-essential to him. Before he sees one of them our terms must be agreed on.”
“I'll have ten thousand paid down on the nail. 'Tis eight years I am collectin' them papers. I bought that shooting-lodge at Banthry, that belonged to the Beechers, just to search the old cupboard in the dinner-room. It was plastered over for fifty years, and Denis Magrath was the only man living knew where it was.”
“I am aware of all that. The discovery—if such it prove—was all your own, Driscoll; and as to the money remuneration, I 'll not defraud you of a sixpence.”
“There was twelve hundred pounds,” continued Driscoll, too full of his own train of thought to think of anything else, “for a wretched ould place with the roof fallin' in, and every stack of it rotten! Eight years last Michaelmas,—that's money, let me tell you! and I never got more than thirty pounds any year out of it since.”
“You shall be paid, and handsomely paid.”
“Yes,” said Terry, nodding.
“You can have good terms on either side.”
“Yes, or a little from both,” added Driscoll, dryly.