“Good-by, sir,” was his last word. “It is you for hoodwinking them.”
“Ha! ha! ha! Good-by, farmer.” (In a patronizing tone.)
Soon after this, Meadows was in a corner of a railway-carriage, twelve thousand four hundred and fifty pounds in his pocket, and the second part of his great complex scheme boiling and bubbling in his massive head. There he sat silent as the grave, his hat drawn over his powerful brows that were knitted all the journey by one who never knitted them in vain.
He reached home at eight and sat down to his desk and wrote for more than half an hour. Then he sealed up the paper, and when Crawley came he found him walking up and down the room. At a silent gesture Crawley took a chair and sat quivering with curiosity. Meadows walked in deep thought.
“You demanded my confidence. It is a dangerous secret, for once you know it you must serve me with red-hot zeal, or be my enemy and be crushed out of life like a blind-worm, or an adder, Peter Crawley.”
“I know that, dear sir,” assented Peter, ruefully.
“First, how far have you guessed?”
“I guess Mr. Levi is somehow against us.”
“He is,” replied Meadows, carelessly.
“Then that is a bad job. He will beat us. He is as cunning as a fox.”