Jeffreys no longer dared to hesitate; but taking a large roll of Bank-notes and a quantity of gold from his pocket, he spread them upon the table, saying, "The thirty pounds I received from Old Death last night are amongst this lot."
"And whence did you obtain such a large sum?" demanded the Black, hastily glancing over the amount, "there are several hundreds of pounds here!"
"Well, sir," said Jeffreys, completely over-awed by the tone and manner of his new master, as well as by the mystery which surrounded him; "I will tell you all about it—and then you will be convinced that I am ready and anxious to secure your good opinion. I was until very lately in the service of a Mr. Torrens——"
"Ah!" exclaimed the Black, starting as if with sudden surprise at the information he had just received: then, again composing himself, he said in his usual calm, but authoritative manner, "Proceed."
"This Mr. Torrens was paid a sum of money a few days ago—about fifteen hundred pounds," continued Jeffreys; "and I put Old Death up to it."
"Benjamin Bones again—Benjamin Bones at the bottom of every villainy!" cried the Black, in an excited manner.
"Well, sir—and so Old Death sent two men—the very same men who was with me at his lodgings last night—to rob Mr. Torrens of the money. They succeeded, and Old Death changed the large notes into small ones and gold; because large notes are useless to such men as Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler. If they attempted to change a fifty pound note, they would get taken up in a moment; whereas they can manage to smash small notes at the public-houses where they deal. So Old Death had his share of the plunder; and mine is part of that heap. I have now told you every thing, sir——"
"No—not every thing!" said the Black, in a more serious and solemn tone than he had yet adopted during his interview with Jeffreys. "Mr. Torrens is in Newgate—charged with a fearful crime," he continued; "and his daughter Rosamond is in a state bordering on despair at the house of kind and generous people with whom I am acquainted."
"Good God! who are you?" exclaimed Jeffreys, surveying his master in terror and amazement. "You know every thing—every body! The least word that is uttered leads to a subject with which you are sure to be acquainted! Oh! sir—if you have had me brought here to do me a mischief—to get me into trouble—to make me confess things—"
"Fear not, Jeffreys!" interrupted the Black, in a reassuring tone. "I am acquainted with Mr. Torrens' version of the history of that murder—and I know that suspicion rests not upon you. But I now perceive clearly that the tale which Mr. Torrens has told to his daughter, and which his daughter has repeated to those friends of mine who have granted her an asylum,—I perceive that this tale is, alas! too true, strange and incredible as it at first appeared. Yes: Mr. Torrens did not deceive his daughter! The house was entered by two men and robbed, as he described the occurrence—and those two men were the real murderers of Sir Henry Courtenay! Jeffreys," continued the Black, in a lower and more measured tone, "you are now completely in my power. Nay—start not—fear not: it is far from my intention to harm you. But it is as well for you to know that you are now bound to me in two ways: first, because I pay you for your services—secondly, because I will denounce you as an accomplice and an accessory before the fact, in respect to that murder, if you hesitate to fulfil my orders! On the other hand, if you remain faithful—if you serve me with that blind obedience and implicit zeal which I exact from you, you have nothing to fear, but every thing to hope."