“Not a word,” returned Chewkle, with a wink. “No, no; if I’d put him up to that I might have hook’d for my share of the—the——”
“Plunder,” supplied Gomer, with a grin.
Chewkle grinned too.
“Not ’zactly that,” he said, “but the price of producing the man and giving a large fortune to Mr. Wilton.”
“Then he remains still in ignorance of the service he might be to Mr. Wilton,” said Gomer as if thoughtfully. “Strange, that, very strange.”
“Not strange, when you remembers that Wilton’s father and mother were married in disguised names,” said Chewkle.
Nathan Gomer felt greatly disposed to give way to a whistle, but he restrained his feelings, and though he felt astonished he looked composed.
After a minute’s reflection, he said to Chewkle—
“When can you produce Mr.———? What did you say his name was?”
“Don’t flurry yourself about his name,” returned Chewkle; “it’s the man you want. Let me see, Thursday, Friday, Saturday—in ten days from this I can do it.”