"Fifty pounds."
"What, each of them bits of paper worth fifty pounds?"
"Yes. Let us count them; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18—Oh, Lord!—20. Why, that is two thousand pounds—just two thousand pounds. It is the very sum that ruined me; it did not belong to me, and it's being in the house ruined my poor Robert. And this does not belong to you. Lock all the doors, bar all the windows, and burn them before the police come."
"Wait a bit," said Nancy—"wait a bit." They sat on each side of the notes; Penfold agitated and terrified, Nancy confounded and perplexed.
CHAPTER LVIII.
PUNCTUALLY at ten o'clock Helen returned to Frith Street, and found Mr. Undercliff behind a sort of counter, employed in tracing; a workman was seated at some little distance from him; both bent on their work.
"Mr. Undercliff?" said Helen.
He rose and turned toward her politely—a pale, fair man, with a keen gray eye and a pleasant voice and manner; "I am Edward Undercliff. You come by appointment?"
"Yes, sir."