Mr. Chewkle drew from out of a dirty piece of light brown paper—which had been employed in the task of enclosing half-a-pound of “moist” sugar—the letter he received from the solicitor.
Mr. Grahame snatched it from him, and tore it open. He read the contents twice, and then sat down and reflected for a minute.
“There is nothing, Chewkle,” he said, more composedly, “that I perceive in this communication to occasion alarm: the deed will be sent here to day by one of the clerks.”
“I hopes it may,” observed Chewkle, laconically.
“In the meantime, my good friend,” said Grahame, assuming a bland tone, “I have been pondering over the situation, and I am afraid we have gone a little too far to pause now, or to retrace our steps.”
“We,” echoed Chewkle, opening his eyes widely.
“Yes,” continued Mr. Grahame; “if I stand in the position of a principal in the affair, you take the part of an accessory before the fact, and a very important one you are, too, inasmuch as you counselled the deed, and instructed me how to perform it, lending your assistance throughout.”
Mr. Chewkle would have here interposed some very emphatic observations, but that Mr. Grahame checked him, and continued speaking.
“It is not my intention,” he said, “or my wish that the conversation should assume its present tone. I would rather that it took a shape which, while it consulted my interest, gave liberal promise of rich advantages to you.”
Chewkle pricked up his ears.