“You need not thank me. From John Simpson I obtained five hundred dollars, and it has enabled me to secure a small fortune in Wall Street. The original money I cannot keep. I should regard it as blood-money—the price of my complicity in his guilty secret. I give it to you as part of the large sum of which he defrauded your father, for though he failed to secure the bag, he carried off a large sum that of right belongs to you and your mother to-day. Do you accept my proposal?”
Tom looked thoughtful.
“Are you willing that I should leave a part of this money for my mother to live upon while I am away?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then, if my mother does not object, I will go.”
“If she objects, tell her of the bag of gold dust which is hidden somewhere at Rocky Gulch; but it will be better not to harrow up her feelings by speaking of your father’s attempted murder by John Simpson.”
“I will follow your advice. But how shall I explain my having the money to make this journey?”
“Tell her you have found a friend who once knew your father and who furnishes you with the necessary means. Caution her, however, not to mention this to others. It is especially necessary that it should not come to the ears of John Simpson, or he will do what he can to thwart you. And now for the money.”
Darius Darke drew out a plethoric pocket-book and extracted therefrom five one hundred dollar bills.
“These are for you,” he said. “Let me advise you before you leave the city, to deposit them in a savings bank. It is hardly prudent to carry so much money about.”