"Then I'll go to her! I'll make a new contract with her. The money'll be hers, now. I'll raise on my price! She'll pay it. I'll warrant she'll pay it! May be it's lucky for me, after all, that I've got her to deal with instead of her husband!"
Even Sharpman was amazed and disgusted at this exhibition of cruel greed in the face of death.
"That's it!" continued the old man in an exulting tone; "that's the plan. I'll go to her. I'll get my money—I'll get it in spite of death!"
He rose from his chair, and grasped his cane to go, but the excitement had brought on a severe fit of coughing, and he was obliged to resume his seat until it was over.
This delay gave Sharpman time to think.
"Wait!" he said, when the old man had finally recovered; "wait a little. I think I have a plan in mind that is better than yours—one that will bring you in more cash."
"More cash?" Craft was quiet and attentive in a moment. The word "cash" had a magical influence over him.
Sharpman arose, closed the door between the two rooms tightly, and locked it. "Some one might chance to intrude," he explained.
Then he came back, sat down in front of his visitor, and assumed an attitude of confidence.
"Yes," he said, "more cash; ten times as much."