Paul received the money, which was in the shape of a roll of dollar bills.
"I have the numbers of the bills in my pocket-book," said the old man, as he handed the packet to the Mexican; "I'm rather a cautious old fellow, you know, my dear sir."
Paul wrote an acknowledgment of the sum, and handed it to Silas Craig's client.
"Perfectly correct, perfectly correct, my dear sir," Mr. Graham muttered, as he read it over—'Received of John Graham, fifteen thousand dollars'—dated and signed. "Thank you, sir, and good evening."
Paul summoned the mulatto lad to show Mr. Graham out, and then, after locking the money in the cash-box—a small metal casket, which might have easily been carried in the ample pocket of Paul's loose linen coat—he left the office, and double-locked the door behind him.
"I think that's all right, Marcus," he said to the boy.
"Iss, massa."
"You sleep in this office, don't you?"
"Iss, massa."
"Then there's no likelihood of any one entering that room without your being aware of it."