“Notes, notes. Gold so much better, but awkward to carry,” he muttered, and then burst into an unpleasant laugh.
“Shall I—shan’t I? Ten thousand safe, better than a hundred thousand doubtful, and who knows what Master Saul might do.”
A strange silence fell upon the place—a silence which seemed painful, for as a rule the low hollow rumble of market-wagons echoed from the high brick wall of The Mynns the night through.
That silence was broken by the smoker’s voice, as he said in a low, angry whisper:
“Saul Harrington is a coward and a cur. He dares nothing—nothing. A snarling dog who fears to bite. Why, if I had been in his place—
“Well, never mind,” he said after a pause. “But about this money—a bird in the hand is worth too in the bush, even if one is Gertrude—a pretty little innocent. Yes, that will be the best plan after all.”
He rose hastily, took a Bradshaw from the shelf, and rapidly turned over the leaves; but as he did so the lamp went out.