“They’re sitting a long time,” said Mrs Pinet, as she raked out the kitchen fire to the very last red-hot cinder. “Mr Hallam seemed quite pleased with him; he’s altered so for the better. He said I needn’t sit up, and so I will go to bed.”
Mrs Pinet sought her room, and about twelve heard the door close on the stranger, between whom and Hallam a good deal of eager conversation had passed in a low tone.
“You see I’m trusting you,” said Hallam as they parted.
“You know you can,” was the reply. “And now, look here, if anything goes wrong—”
“I tell you, if you do as I have arranged, nothing can go wrong. I want an agent in London, whom I can implicitly trust, and I am going to trust you. Once more, your task is to do exactly what I tell you.”
“But if anything goes wrong, I can’t write to you.”
“Nothing can go wrong, I tell you.”
“Yes,” said Crellock to himself, “you told me that once before.” Then aloud:
“Well, we will say nothing can go wrong, for I shall do exactly what you have said; but if anything should, I shall come down, and if you see me—look out.”