“I’d give something to ha’ him out o’ the road,” said Corrie, with sudden viciousness. “I’ve been thinkin’ he maybe kens more’n he’s shown. If Sam was to get better after a’—”
“Don’t start brooding on that!” said Symington shortly. “By the way, have you destroyed the letter?”
“No, I’m going to keep it—safely this time.”
“Why on earth—”
Corrie glared at his fellow-conspirator. “I intend to trust ye, Symington,” he said slowly. “Same time, I warn ye, if ye try to get the better o’ me, I’ll take the risk o’ handing the letter to Kitty Carstairs and telling her the whole cursed story.”
For an instant Symington’s gaze was murderous. Then he laughed. “Canny man, canny man!” he sneered. “If Kitty would forgive you—well, let that pass. Meantime, I want the loan of twenty pounds. There ought to have been a registered letter for me this morning. If it comes to-morrow, you must re-direct it to London. Now I’ll walk down to the shop with you and get the cash.”
“All right,” said Corrie reluctantly, after a pause. “But ye mun be careful what ye say before Rachel. I doubt if she’s on our side now. Let her think ye’re considering about giving me back the Zeniths for the girl. D’ye see?”
“Very well. Now that she’s got Kitty’s address she might easily make trouble.”
“I wish,” said Corrie, as they went down the road, “I wish ye would tell me how ye’re going to get a hold o’ her. Ha’ ye got a plan?”
“Perhaps I have.” Symington smiled darkly, and changed the subject.