"Why, I have hardly begun. Don't be impatient. Sit down on that other chair and take a nap, if you are tired."
Prattleton continued to stand at the table, but his impatience was evidently great. His back was to Henry Arkell, but the boy had full view of the countenance and movements of the other: his interest, in what was passing, was not less than his astonishment.
"You say you know the date, so where's the use of being so dilatory?" cried Mr. Prattleton. "You turn over the leaves as slow as if you were going to execution. Ah, you have it now, I think."
"No, I have not." And Rolls turned another leaf over as he spoke, and went on studying; but he stealthily placed his thumb to mark the page he left. Prattleton yawned, whistled, and yawned again, and finally turned away and began to look in the safe; anything to cover his impatience. Upon which, Henry Arkell distinctly saw Rolls turn back to the page where his thumb was, examine it intently, and then silently blow out the light.
"Halloa!" roared Prattleton, finding himself in darkness.
"What a beast of a candle!" indignantly uttered Mr. Rolls. "It's gone out!"
"What put it out?"
"How can I tell? The damp, I suppose: everything smells mouldy. Give us the matches, Prat."
"I have not got the matches. You took them."
"Did I? Then I'm blest if I have not left them on the bench at the door. Go for them, Prat, will you: if I lose my place in the book I shall have to begin all over again, and that will keep us longer than you'd like."