“I knocked him down—with that ruler, and got my money out of his breast. Narrow escape, but I got it.”
“Why did you not mention this before, Luke Vine?”
“Because I had got my money safe—because I wanted to give clever people a lesson—because I did not want to see my nephew in gaol—because I did not choose—because—Here, you Crampton, give me back those notes. Thankye, I’ll take care of them in future myself.”
He replaced the notes in the case, and buttoned it carefully in his breast.
“Luke, you astonish me,” cried Van Heldre.
“Eccentric, my dear sir, eccentric. Now, then, you see why I returned you the cheque. Morning.”
Crampton took out his silk pocket-handkerchief, and began to polish his glasses as he gazed hard at his employer after following Uncle Luke to the door, which was closed sharply.
“Poor Harry Vine!” said Van Heldre sadly. “Combining with another to rob himself. Surely the ways of sin are devious, Crampton?”
“Yes,” said the old man thoughtfully. “I wish I had waited till you got well.”
“Too late to think of that, Crampton,” said Van Heldre sadly. “When do you go to Pradelle’s trial?”