Lancaster started, and took a hasty gulp, spilling a little.
"I beg your pardon—and his," said Bullard gravely. "But I am not often 'had.' Now, look here, Caw; I have still nine hundred and ninety pounds here. They are yours, if you can tell me where the collection is at the present moment."
The topmost thought in Caw's mind then was that the brutes might have had the decency to have waited until his master was laid in the grave. He felt helpless, powerless. He could not doubt that Bullard was playing with him. And in view of the promise to his master he could do nothing to prevent the crime, the desecration as he felt it to be. He could do nothing but look on in silence while they searched, until they found—But stay! he might as well despoil the spoilers when he had the chance.
"I will take your money, sir," he said, in an odd voice. "Look in the bottom right-hand drawer in the writing table."
Bullard's eyebrows rose. Then he got up and, with his eyes on the servant, opened the empty drawer.
Caw was within an ace of dropping the salver. After a moment he carried it to a side table and set it down with a small crash. Turning, he looked searchingly round the room. His gaze stopped at the curtain; he thought he understood. They had had an accomplice outside! … He seemed to glide across to Bullard, and Bullard found himself looking into the barrel of a stout revolver.
"Out o' the house, the pair o' ye," he ordered hoarsely, "or, by God,
I'll forget the holy dead!"
"But look here—"
"Not a word! Take your hats and go! You've got what you came for—"
"Listen, you madman!" Bullard held up a hand, the one with the notes in it.