John Linden slowly returned to his chamber, and left the two alone.
“The governor’s getting old,” said Bolton. “When I was butler here, fifteen years ago, he looked like a young man. He didn’t suspect that he had ever seen me before.”
“Nor that you had carried away his son, Bolton.”
“Who hired me to do it? Who put me up to the job, as far as that goes?”
“Hush! Walls have ears. Let us return to business.”
“That suits me.”
“Look here, Tim Bolton,” said Curtis, drawing up a chair, and lowering his voice to a confidential pitch, “you say you want money?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, I don’t give money for nothing.”
“I know that. What’s wanted now?”