“But we mustn’t do anything shady, Orthur.”
“Shady, guv’nor!” cried the footman, contemptuously; “not us. It’s to be sunshiny. Don’t you be afraid o’ that. We sha’n’t do nothing to make us afraid to look a bobby in the face. Only a bit of speckylation—a bit o’ borrowing now and then to raise the wind, and paying of it back. Give us your hand on it, old man. We sticks together through thick and thin.”
There were vinous tears in the butler’s eyes as he extended his plump white hand to be grasped hard, and the two speculators looked each in the other’s face, seeing a gilded future before them, the glare of which hid everything else.
“That’ll do for the present, guv’nor,” said Arthur.
He drew open the door, and was about to pass out, when a short cough came echoing along the passage, and he pushed the door close again.
“Hist!” he whispered, as he blew out the light; “the old woman’s coming down.”
“Quick! take out the key, and lock it from inside,” whispered the butler. “She’s always coming along here to see if this place is all right and try the door.”
The footman obeyed, making a faint rattle with the key, after which he closed the door, leaving them in darkness.
“Have you locked it?”
“No, there ain’t no key-hole on this side. Hist! she’s coming straight here.”