“Levi, you wouldn't—you could not run any risk with that?”
Levi stands by his great iron safe, with the big key in his hand. He nods in reply, and locking up the document, he knocks his knuckles on the iron door, with a long and solemn wink.
“Sha-afe!—that'sh the word,” says he, and then he drops the keys into his pocket again.
There was a silence of a minute or more. A spell was stealing over them; an influence was in the room. Each eyed the other, shrinkingly, as a man might eye an assassin. The Jew knew that there was danger in that silence; and yet he could not break it. He could not disturb the influence acting on Richard Arden's mind. It was his good angel's last pleading, before the long farewell.
In a dreadful whisper Richard Arden speaks:—
“Give me that parchment back,” says he.
Satan finds his tongue again.
“Give it back?” repeats Levi, and a pause ensues. “Of course I'll give it back; and I wash my hands of it and you, and you're throwing away ten thoushand poundsh for nothing.”
Levi was taking out his keys as he spoke, and as he fumbled them over one by one, he said—
“You'll want a lawyer in the Insholwent Court, and you'd find Mishter Sholomonsh azh shatisfactory a shengleman azh any in London. He'sh an auctioneer, too; and there'sh no good in your meetin' that friendly cove here to-morrow, for he'sh one o' them honourable chaps, and he'll never look at you after your schedule's lodged, and the shooner that'sh done the better; and them women we was courting, won't they laugh!”