“Man! witness of my infamy, your most avaricious wishes shall be gratified,” hissed Mr. Grahame through his teeth. “You have only to be silent.”
“As the grave,” said Chewkle, placing his finger to his lip.
Suddenly Mr. Grahame uttered a shout of horror: his eye fell upon Nathan Gomer, who, a few paces from him, was standing watching him attentively.
“My God! Mr. Gomer—how—what—why are you here?” he exclaimed, gasping for breath.
Chewkle, in an instant, spread a newspaper, which was on the table, over the deed.
“Do not alarm yourself, Mr. Grahame,” replied Nathan Gomer, with the coolest self-possession. “I merely returned to say, after a brief reflection, that I have decided on entertaining your proposals. You had better, therefore, put your solicitor in connection with mine. Good morning, Mr. Grahame.”
Nathan’s eye glittered on Chewkle for an instant, so as to make that person feel most uncomfortable. Then he moved swiftly and noiselessly out of the room.
Mr. Grahame, pale as death, sank back in his chair. Mr. Chewkle gazed in the direction which Nathan Gomer had taken, and ejaculated—
“Well, I’m blowed!”