“At the same time I cannot be intimate with him. I don’t like him, and I don’t like the companions who come over from Stinchcombe to man his lugger, and I’ll tell you why. Do you know that, now this little mine is developing itself, I very often have blocks of silver here to a considerable amount.”
“I have often thought you must have, father.”
“You were quite right, and they are stored below this floor in a strong cellar cut and blasted out of the solid rock. I have good doors and keys, and take every precaution; but at the same time I often feel that it is very unsafe, and of course I send it into town as often as I can.”
“But you don’t think, father—”
“That Jonas Uggleston would steal it? I hope not, my boy; but at the same time I feel as if I ought not to expose myself to risks, and I prefer to keep Jonas Uggleston at the same distance as he has before stood. We can be civil.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Sorry?”
“Yes, father,” I replied, “because I like Bigley Uggleston.”
“So do I, my boy. I like his quiet modesty under ordinary circumstances, and the sterling manner in which you have told me that he has come to the front in emergencies. But stop: I don’t ask you to break with him, for he may be useful to us after all. There, let me finish these figures I am setting down, and I’ll talk to you again.”
I sat down and watched him, and then looked round the bare office, with its high up window close to the ceiling, and ladder leading to the two rooms above. Spread over the floor was a large foreign rug that my father had brought from the Mediterranean many years before, and this rug was stretched over the middle of the large office as if it had been brought from the cottage to make the place more homelike and comfortable. But it struck me all at once that the rug had been placed there to hide a trap-door. Then, as I sat looking about, I noticed that the door was very thick and strong, and that there were bars at the window in which the glass was set.