“You must meet me exactly at nine to-morrow morning, at the Paddington Station of the Great Western Railway; I will see you at that hour, or as shortly after as possible, in the waiting-room, for if I decide upon purchasing your information, I shall proceed immediately afterwards, direct to Harleydale Manor, to Mr. Wilton!”
“Mind!” said Chewkle, quietly, “I tell you I can’t produce the man for ten days.”
“Very true, but you will want the money you ask, and I must obtain the authority to give it you. You understand?”
“All right,” replied Chewkle.
“Be punctual. Good night!” exclaimed Nathan Gomer, and laying hold of a button of Chewkle’s coat, he led him to the outer door, nodded and grinned at him with so elfish an expression, that Chewkle was really glad to get away.
He saw Nathan close his outer door, and heard him lock it; he heard him double lock and bolt the inner door, and then he groped his way down into the street.
“He’s a queer little imp of old Nick’s,” he muttered to himself; then he chuckled, “I’ve done him, I think,” he said, “I shall have that money, and he may hook for the evidence, for I shall be off for a little while for the benefit of my health, likewise in the neighbourhood of Harleydale, but not for the benefit of old Wilton’s health. I don’t think he’ll rapidly improve, after I get’s down about his ’ouse.”
He turned into the bye-lane and so on into a crowded thoroughfare.
In the meantime, Nathan Gomer, on returning to his easy chair, drew up his knees to his chin, and went through some extraordinary evolutions. He rubbed his yellow hands with delight, and his golden visage glistened and beamed with felicity.
“Cunning Chewkle!” he cried—“cunning, cunning Chewkle. Ho! ho! ho! such a cunning fellow! Mr. Josh Maybee is the man, eh? Confined in Spike Hotel, which is the Queen’s Prison. I will be closeted with him while Mr. Chewkle is admiring the carpetbags, and longing to secure the heaviest in the waiting-room of the railway. Having settled my business with Mr. Maybee, I shall turn my attention to the forged deed executed, I suppose, by Grahame, and stolen, I suspect, by Chewkle. Ay! on that very morning I watched him to and from his lodgings, and the chambers of Grahame’s solicitors. It will come right at last!—all come right at last! Flora, from your bright abode in heaven, your gentle eyes may witness that I have striven truly and honestly to keep the solemn vow I have made; and though, on earth you regarded me with emotions of distaste, or sad compassionateness only, you may bend on me a smile of tenderness denied to me on earth. Alas! alas!”