"They did not, as they are here—here—in the pocket of my old coat, Master Sharkley; so it is of more value than it looks, for it contains a peerage and an estate," replied Braddon, with gleaming eyes, as he slapped his breast emphatically.
For a moment Sharkley sat silent and bewildered, for the energy and perfect confidence of the speaker could not fail to impress him. Then he said,—
"You of course mean to turn them to account somehow?"
"When the right time comes."
"And to show them—"
"To the right man when he comes."
"And who, and where is he?"
"Young Denzil Trevelyan—Lord Lamorna—now in India, with the old Regiment. Could I but get there—there to the young master—" continued old Derrick with fervour; "but I might as well wish myself in the moon; for I am a poor friendless old fellow. One thing, Master Sharkley, I sha'n't trust the papers with you."
Sharkley was silent again; Braddon's mistrust of him was open and unconcealed, and he saw but one way of obtaining a sight of papers so important, and that was by exciting his indignation by a sneer.
"Ah—the lady at the villa was very much attached to your master—very handsome, and I doubt not—"