The girl immediately left the room.
“That was well done,” said Jacob; “now we have not a minute to lose. He brought a letter here, did he not?”
“He did that, Mr. Short; he brought it and dropped it into the mail-bag himself. I can’t find it, so there’s no use in your trying to meddle. It is as much as my place is worth, even talking to you on the subject, and if I was to do more, it’s penal servitude might hang over my head.”
“It might, or it might not,” said Jacob; “we have talked over these matters a few times, haven’t we, Mrs. Higgins? It is rather late in the day for you to take up this tone. I thought the matter was all arranged. You want thirty pounds, don’t you now? You shall have it if you give me one look at the letter which Mr. Rowton has just dropped into the bag.”
The woman hesitated again; she had a weak and somewhat cowardly type of face—her mouth expressed greed. When Jacob spoke of the thirty pounds which might so easily become hers, her eyes glittered with an ugly light.
“Heaven knows I do want that money,” she said, “and I don’t suppose any harm will come of it; be quick, then, or Polly will be back.”
The woman shivered as she spoke. She lifted the flap of the counter.
“I was just about to seal the bag,” she said; “I won’t look—you do.”
Jacob slipped inside the counter. The post-mistress held the bag, half-full of letters, for him to peep in. His eyes which were keen as an eagle’s, quickly discovered the despatch he wanted.