Chewikle passed his hand over his chin. “Yes,” he replied, “that is, if they are to be got.” Very few words more were interchanged between them ere Mr. Chewkle quitted the house, cursing the deed which he had with such an exercise of cunning purloined, and which would require so much ingenuity to restore, and leave him unsuspected of the theft.
“Perjury and Forgery!” exclaimed Mr. Grahame, as soon as he knew himself to be alone. “This is hastening on in the career of crime. What if some voice were to howl in the ear of Mistress Grahame that her husband was a perjurer and a forger! A Grahame, one of the race that has prided itself upon never having cowered under the taint of dishonour—a wretched criminal—liable to be dragged, with all the horrors of the lowest degradation, to the bar of justice, thence to work out in chains a fearful servitude, in the company of wretches the most desperate. Into what a frightful, position has my pecuniary embarrassment hurled me? Henceforth I shall live in perpetual horror of discovery, of being called upon at any moment to face an officer to”——
A loud, single knock at the library door at this moment made his heart leap into his mouth, and nearly caused him to scream with fright, but that his voice forsook him. Before he could recover sufficiently to accord permission to enter, Nathan Gomer walked into the room.
Pale and haggard, Mr. Grahame regarded him with any other feeling than that of complacency. Nathan Gomer held mortgages on his property, and had advanced money on a bond; the day of payment named in it was fast approaching. He had also promised, upon certain security, to furnish additional funds. Mr. Grahame could only look upon him with the eyes of one deeply indebted to him; he believed that he would realise some portion of the sums he had loaned, but he knew that if fate proved adverse to him, Nathan would lose largely as well. He both hated and feared him, and he viewed his presence now with distrust. He anticipated that he was the harbinger of bad news: everything had gone so wrong of late, there was nothing else to expect.
Nathan Gomer turned up his shining yellow visage, and grinned. How Grahame loathed that grin!—it seemed to betoken only mischief.
He motioned to Nathan to take a chair, and, in a husky voice, begged to be informed what fortunate circumstance it was to which he was indebted for the felicity his presence thus unannounced, afforded him.
“A matter I apprehend of no small importance to you, Mr. Grahame,” replied Nathan.
Mr. Grahame gulped. No doubt it was of importance to him; he expected that—most painful importance. What else could it be.
“I think I am prepared,” he said, “for anything you may have to communicate to me, whatever distressing features it may possess.”
“I think not,” said Nathan. “Hearken: you have a new neighbour next door to you;” he pointed as he spoke, and asked—“Do you know his name?”