“My dear boy!” cried James Brandon effusively; and his son uttered a low, unpleasant laugh. “Sam, you have the—the papers?”
“Yes.”
“Quick then—give them to me.”
Sam thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of his closely-buttoned coat, and glancing in sidewise, he drew out a folded paper.
“That it?” he said coolly, as he handed it to his father, watching him keenly the while.
“That? Absurd!” said James Brandon, taking it and tossing it back. “The agreement for letting a house. You don’t mean to say—”
Sam interrupted him.
“Try that then,” he said.
But again his father tossed the paper away with an angry ejaculation, while his face grew more haggard and anxious-looking.
“That’s it then,” said Tom. “I had to grab them in a hurry, and get away.”