"Here I am, master," said Mrs. Tunks with a cringing air, and Cyril started to hear her so address the negro. He was further surprised when he saw how commanding were the looks of Durgo.
"Have you got those papers?" asked the negro, extending his large hand.
Granny Tunks had them and said so, but it took her some time to find them, so ragged were her garments and so hidden her pocket. She still wore the brown dress tagged with parti-coloured ribbons, and her plentiful white hair still hung like seaweed from under the dingy red handkerchief. Also as usual she jingled with the multiplicity of coins which dangled from her neck, her wrists, and from various parts of her picturesque dress. In sixty or seventy seconds she managed to find a bundle of dusty papers tied up with faded red tape, and passed them to Durgo with ingratiating smiles. "There you are, deary——"
"Master!" snapped the negro, with sudden ferocity.
"Yes, master," stammered the woman, turning slightly pale under her brown skin. "I found them in the chest you spoke of. The cat"—she meant Mrs. Vand—"didn't see me, master, so no one knows but this gentleman; but he won't say a word; no, no, I'll be bound he won't."
"How do you know?" asked Cyril sharply.
Mrs. Tunks replied without taking her beady black eyes from Durgo. "I saw the coming of the master in the crystal, lovey, and told your dear sweetheart of the same. The master brings good luck to you both, so if you tell, it will part you and your deary for ever."
"We are parted as it is," said Cyril bitterly.
"Perhaps not," replied the old woman.
Lister rose from his chair and stared. "What do you mean?" he cried imperiously.