“He be proud, that’s true,” said Dibble, remembering how Paul had dropped his companionship of late.
“I hate and detest him, he is a thief and a scoundrel; and I could have him transported if I liked.”
“Could you now?” said Dibble, staring in amazement at Mr. Gibbs, who, despite his efforts to appear calm, had clenched his fist, and looked particularly ugly.
“I shall punish him by means of this purse. If you do what I require you will have your five hundred pounds, and have no liability beyond it; and you will be able to live comfortably and happily again with Mrs. Dibble. And if you don’t, you will have fifteen hundred pounds to pay beyond the five hundred; you will be sold up and turned out of house and home, and be done up root and branch.”
Dibble groaned aloud at this picture, and jumping from his seat, said, “Give me the purse, give it me; I’ll do it.”
“And you swear on your oath—go down on your knees—there, that will do; now you swear that whatever may take place you will never confess that you know anything about the purse, or ever saw it in your life before.”
“I swear it all,” said Dibble.
“So help you, heaven!” said Gibbs, holding his hand aloft, and Dibble repeated the imprecation.
“If you should break your oath you will not only go to the devil,” said Gibbs, solemnly, “but you will before that be taken by the police as a thief, and transported. Now, here are ten ten-pound notes, and here is the purse; in the morning early I shall know if you have done your work properly. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” said Dibble, slinking away in a perspiration of fear and happiness, of doubt and hope; afraid of his own shadow, yet less afraid of Mrs. Dibble than he had been a few hours before.