“I don’t know that, Jacob Gray,” remarked Learmont, calmly and firmly. “I have a long purse, you see, which you have not.”
“There—is—something in that,” muttered Gray.
“A man of your acuteness must perceive that there is a great deal in that,” continued Learmont.
“Yes, truly; but still there would be danger, most imminent danger, squire.”
“That I grant you, but yours, Jacob Gray, would far exceed mine. Be that, however, as it may, you must see how very desirable a consummation it would be if this swilling drunken knave, Britton, were some day to choke himself.”
“Or be choked by Jacob Gray?” added Gray, with a smile of dark meaning.
“Exactly,” said Learmont. “It may be done easily. Invite him to your house; feast with him, plan and plot with him; give him wine; and then, some day, when time and circumstances are fitting, I will give you a drug of such potency, that, if ever so slightly used in his wine-cup, will seize upon the springs of life, and at once, you will see, Master Gray, you are rid of this dangerous man.”
“And rid you likewise of him,” interposed Gray.
“Of course; but I gain little—you everything—by his death—safety and wealth!”
“It might be done,” murmured Gray, “if it could be done safely.”