"And what use are they to you? What harm are they to me? I shall swear--"
"Stop a minute! Podmore is alive; he's got Banner and Blair's business in Combcardingham now; he would verify his signature any day, and yours too. No; I fairly tell you I've thought of it all for several years, and I don't see your loophole. I think I've got you tight!" And Mr. Simnel smiled pleasantly as he squeezed his thumb and forefinger together, as though he were choking a rabbit.
Mr. Townshend was cowering in his chair, and had covered his face with his hands. When he raised it, he was livid. "What do you want?--money?"
"No," said Simnel, "not exactly. Oddly enough, I want nothing at present! I merely wanted, as you were going out of town, to set matters straight, and let us understand each other before you left. I'll let you know when I really require you to do something for me, and you'll not fail, eh?" These last words rather sharply.
"In all human--I mean--in a--" and the old man stammered, broke down, and threw himself back in his chair, sobbing violently.
"Come, come!" said Simnel; "don't take on so! You'll not find me hard; but you know in these days one must utilise one's opportunities. There, good-by! you won't forget my name; and I'll write here when I want you."
And he touched, not unkindly, the shrinking old man's shoulder, and went out.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
WEAVING THE WEB.
In his well-deserved character of prudent campaigner, Mr. Simnel took no immediate steps to avail himself of the signal advantage which he had gained in his interview with Mr. Townshend. That eminent British merchant went abroad, and his name was recorded among a choice sprinkling of fashionables as honouring the steamship Baron Osy, bound for Antwerp, with their presence, and, on the "better-day-better-deed" principle, selecting the Sunday as the day of their departure. Mr. Simnel read the paragraph with a placid smile; he had seen sufficient of Mr. Townshend in that interview to guess that his illness was merely the result of care and worry, and that there was no reason to apprehend his proximate death. Antwerp--doubtless thence Brussels, the Rhine, and perhaps Switzerland--would make a pleasant tour; and as for any idea of escape, he knew well enough that that thought had never crossed Mr. Townshend's mind. The old gentleman knew he would have to pay the possessor of his secret heavily in one way or another, but in what he was as yet totally ignorant; besides, his business engagements in London utterly prevented all chance of his retiring in any sudden manner. And so Mr. Simnel remained quietly at his post at the Tin-Tax Office, apparently not taking any notice of any thing save the regular business routine, but in reality intent on his earnest cat-like watching of all around him, and always ready to pull any string at what he considered the proper opportunity.