Gray carefully flicked a little ash from the end of his cigar, and then looked up.
"You are quite wrong, Lumley. That pick is not meant for geological specimens at all. It's meant to be used for digging up a large sum of money hidden somewhere about here. Unfortunately I don't know where."
"You don't?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Perhaps you know?"
Lumley glared at him like a wild beast.
"Was that why you were going away?"
Gray nodded.
"Tom Dearing didn't tell you where 'twas hid? Don't you try to deceive me, man. I'll not stand it. I'll have that swag if I've got to swing for it to-morrow. What made you go proddin' and pryin' round those old trunks for, eh? You tell me that."
"With all the pleasure in life, my man. But I should like to hear a few things from you first. How did you get to know of this money? I may not be far wrong in supposing you an accomplice of our good friend, lately deceased, Mr. Tom Dearing?"
"I'd wring your neck for tuppence," Lumley muttered savagely.