Mr. Grahame looked at him with some surprise. What did such a question portend?
Nathan only grinned, and Mr. Grahame answered coldly—
“I am not accustomed to take any notice of my neighbours, or trouble myself to make inquiries respecting them.”
“You would have been interested if you had, in the present instance.”
“Indeed!” ejaculated Grahame, a curl turning his lip.
“Ay! His name is Wilton—Eustace Wilton—ah, you are interested now.”
Mr. Grahame clutched Nathan by the arm.
“What?” he shouted, “the wretched man dying inch by inch in his poverty—a day or so back in the Queen’s Prison, and now”——
“Your next door neighbour, with an income of five thousand a-year, and cash to the tune of sixty thousand pounds.” replied Nathan Gomer, with forcible emphasis.
“Impossible!” groaned Grahame.