“I wish to God us could have settled it without no help from outside.”
Grimbal rang the bell, then answered.
“As to settling it, I know nothing about that. I’ve settled with my own conscience—such as it is.”
“I’d come for ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’”
“Now you have a definite answer.”
“An’ thank you. Then what ’s it to be between us, when I come back? May I ax that? Them as ban’t enemies no more might grow to be friends—eh?”
What response Grimbal would have made is doubtful. He did not reply, for his servant, Lawrence Vallack, entered at the moment, and he turned abruptly upon the old man.
“Where ’s the letter I left upon my desk? It was directed to Plymouth.”
“All right, sir, all right; don’t worrit. I’ve eyes in my head for my betters still, thank God. I seed un when I come to shut the shutters an’ sent Joe post-haste to the box. ’T was in plenty of time for the mail.”
John emptied his lungs in a great respiration, half-sigh, half-groan. He could not speak. Only his fingers closed and he half lifted his hand as though to crush the smirking ancient. Then he dropped his arm and looked at Blanchard, asking the question with his eyes that he could find no words for.