“In wall, Meest Weld.”
“All of it?”
“All.”
There was a moment’s pause.
“You know now that it belongs to Mildred—to Leighton’s daughter,—do you not?” he asked, an accent of sternness in his voice.
“I know, Meest Weld.”
“Then why did you not tell us of this before?”
Old Miguel stood silent, shifting from one foot to another, his eyes cast down, his slender brown fingers spasmodically pressing the rim of his sombrero. But when he spoke it was in his former quiet manner.
“I am a bad man, Meest Weld. I theenk I keep gold for myself. Why not, when no one know? Long time after Señor Cristoval die no one come here. Some time I go to room an’ count gold. When I see it I have bad thought. I theenk it ees nice if I keep all myself. But when I go away an’ work in the grove, I tell Miguel many time that gold ees not his; it ees Leighton’s gold. I say when Leighton come for it he mus’ have it. But Leighton do not come. Many year the gold ees mine, an’ no one know. Then come Leighton’s girl, an’ I know I am bad man if I keep gold. But I say nothing. I theenk no one ever know.”
“But tell me,” said Arthur curiously, “what good is the money to you when it is hidden in a wall?”