“Lay not up for yourselves treasure—” The rest had mouldered away.
“Where thieves break through and steal,” cried Gemp, whose jaw dropped. “They’re a consulting—parson and Sir Gordon—parson and Thickens twiced—parson at the bank—Hallam up to his eyes in debt!”
He reeled, so strong was his emotion, but he recovered himself directly.
“My deeds! my money!” he gasped, “my—”
He could utter no more, for a strange giddiness assailed him, and after clutching for a moment in the air, he fell down in a fit.
“Yes, he’s in his room, sir,” said Thickens, meeting Bayle at the bank door. “I’ll tell him you are here.”
Hallam required no telling. He had seen Bayle come up, and he appeared at the door of his room so calm and cool that his visitor felt a moment’s hesitation.
“Want to see me, Bayle? Business? Come in.”
The door closed behind the curate, and James Thickens screwed his face into wrinkles, and buttoned his coat up to the last button, as he seated himself upon his stool.
“Well, what can I do for you, Bayle?” said Hallam, seating himself at his table, after placing a chair for his visitor, which was not taken.