Crampton moved towards the door, his way lying by Uncle Luke; but just as he neared the opening, the visitor made a stab at the wall with his heavy stick, and, as it were, raised a bar before the old clerk, who started violently.
“Bless my heart, Mr Luke Vine!” he cried; “what are you about? Don’t do that.”
“Stop here, then. Who told you to go?”
“No one, sir, but—”
“How do I know what he wants. I may be glad of a witness.”
“Oh, yes! You need not go, Crampton,” said Van Heldre. “Sit down, Luke.”
“No, thankye. Sit too much for my health now. Come: out with it. What do you want? There is something.”
“Yes, there is something,” said Van Heldre quietly. “Look here, my dear Luke Vine.”
“Thought as much,” sneered the old man. “You want to borrow money, my dear Van Heldre.”
“No; I want to pay money, Luke Vine. It seems that you have returned that five hundred pounds to Crampton.”