The cellar into which they descended was used to store goods of various descriptions, and presented to the glance a confused pile of bales and boxes, arranged without much regard to order.
“This is a queer place to keep money,” said the burglar, looking round.
“It’s a first-rate place,” said Tom complacently, “for nobody would ever think of looking for it here.”
“I don’t know but you’re right. Well, where is it?”
“In that little chest,” said Tom, pointing to one under a bale.
“So it’s there, is it?” said the burglar triumphantly. “How much is there?”
“There’s a good deal,” said Tom; “but don’t take all, will you? Mr. Burton will be so mad.”
“Oh, no, I’ll leave some,” said the burglar mockingly. “What a simpleton he is,” he thought. “Come, open it. Is it locked?”
“There, what a fool I was!” said Tom, in a tone so natural that it deceived his companion. “I left the key up-stairs. But I won’t keep you a minute. I’ll go up and get it.”
But for the opinion he had formed of our hero’s simplicity, the burglar would hardly have suffered Tom to leave him. As it was his contempt made him feel secure.