"How jolly I feel!" exclaimed Ripton, inspired by claret; and then, after a luxurious pause—"I think that fellow has pocketed his guinea, and cut his lucky."
Richard allowed a long minute to pass, during which the baronet waited anxiously for his voice, hardly recognizing it when he heard its altered tones.
"If he has, I'll go; and I'll do it myself."
"You would?" returned Master Ripton. "Well, I'm hanged!—I say, if you went to school, wouldn't you get into rows! Perhaps he hasn't found the place where the box was stuck in. I think he funks it. I almost wish you hadn't done it, upon my honour—eh? Look there! what was that? That looked like something.—I say! do you think we shall ever be found out?"
Master Ripton intoned this abrupt interrogation very seriously.
"I don't think about it," said Richard, all his faculties bent on signs from Lobourne.
"Well, but," Ripton persisted, "suppose we are found out?"
"If we are, I must pay for it."
Sir Austin breathed the better for this reply. He was beginning to gather a clue to the dialogue. His son was engaged in a plot, and was, moreover, the leader of the plot. He listened for further enlightenment.
"What was the fellow's name?" inquired Ripton.