"I tell you I don't know nothin' at all about it. I hain't seen your darter, nor Cap'n Vincent nuther," whimpered the miser.
"No evasion! Answer me at once," thundered the enraged merchant, goaded to desperation by the anguish his injury called forth. "Your name is mentioned in this letter. You are to receive the money, and share it with the scoundrel who intends to filch it from me. Vincent did not go in the vessel. Where is he?"
"I don't know nothin' at all about it," answered Mr. Fairfield, wriggling like a worm in his chair.
"Yes, you do. You are to send the money to him. Where is he?" demanded Mr. Watson, as he seized the old man by the throat, and dragged him out of his chair.
"Lem me be!" sputtered the miser, trying to free himself from the grasp of the wrathful father.
"Speak, old man! Where is he? Speak, or I will tear the answer from you."
"Be calm, Mr. Watson," interposed Levi, gently.
"For massy's sake! You don't mean to kill him—do you?" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield, alarmed for the safety of her husband. "Don't hurt him! He's a poor old man, and don't know no better."
Mr. Watson, conscious that he had gone too far in his violent indignation, released his grasp upon the miser, and he sank back into his chair more frightened than hurt.
"If I knew anything consarnin' this business, I'd tell you all about it," added the old man, when he had regained his breath.