“Yes, yes, sir, I am not going to defend him, but that money I do believe he come by honest.”
“The less we talk on that subject, the better,” said Crossley. “Well, now, look here. I found the money, and as, of course, I ought, I took it with me because you had no possible right to it; but it so happens that at the present moment I have got twenty pounds in my pocket—here, in my waistcoat.” Crossley tapped himself as he spoke.
“Oh, sir, that twenty pounds?”
“No matter to you what twenty pounds. I have twenty pounds in my pocket, and you shall have it—yes, every penny of it, all in gold sovereigns, too, if you’ll do what I want.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing I would not do for the money,” began Mrs. Larkins.
“Then that is all right; you are a sensible woman when all is said and done. Now, you just give me a little bit of information.”
At these words the poor woman’s face, which had gradually begun to assume an expression of hope, turned once again to its old death-in-life appearance. She shook her head feebly, and taking up a long seam of needlework began to sew at it. “I cannot tell on poor Bill’s pals,” she said; “no, I can’t, it’s no use asking me, so there. I won’t give evidence agin them.”
“Very well,” said Crossley, “I can only say I am sorry for you. It is quite out of my power to give you twenty pounds for nothing. If you help me, I’ll help you. That is fair and above board, isn’t it? Now, will you speak or will you not?”