Then he whispered—
“Murder is it?”
Mr. Grahame threw his eyes slowly round the library, and then fastened them again on Chewkle’s inflamed orbs—
“It would be the source of unceasing torture to me to know the evidence of which you speak to be living, and that at any moment it might be forthcoming.”
“That’s true,” muttered Chewkle.
“It would be to my interest to pay handsomely—very handsomely, if I knew the evidence was”——
“Destroyed!”
“Exactly, Chewkle, my good fellow.”
“I wants money.”
“Pressingly?”