“What!” exclaimed Shank, starting up again with wide open eyes; “you have met Ralph, then?”
“I have. He conducted me here.”
“And you have intrusted your money to him?”
“Yes—all of it; every cent!”
“Are you aware,” continued Shank, in a solemn tone, “that Ralph Ritson is Buck Tom—the noted chief of the outlaws?”
“I know it.”
“And you trust him?”
“I do. I have perfect confidence that he is quite incapable of betraying an old friend.”
For some time Shank looked at his companion in surprise; then an absent look came into his eyes, and a variety of expressions passed over his wan visage. At last he spoke.
“I don’t know how it is, Charlie, but somehow I think you are right. It’s an old complaint of mine, you know, to come round to your way of thinking, whether I admit it or not. In days of old I usually refused to admit it, but believed in you all the same! If any man had told me this morning—ay, even half an hour since—that he had placed money in the hands of Buck Tom for safe keeping, knowing who and what he is, I would have counted him an incurable fool; but now, somehow, I do believe that you were quite right to do it, and that your money is as safe as if it were in the Bank of England.”