“What have you got there, sir?” asked Joe Baldwin, coming forward.
“That is just what I don’t know,” answered Edgar. “It seems to me like an iron or steel box much encrusted with rust, and I shouldn’t wonder if it contained something of value. One thing is certain, that we have not got the key, and must therefore break it open.”
While he was speaking, David Maxwell gazed at the box intently. He did not speak, but there was a peculiar motion about his lips as if he were licking them. A fiend happened just then to stand at Maxwell’s ear. It whispered, “You know it.”
“Ay,” said Maxwell, under his breath, in reply, “I knows it—well.”
“I wonder if there are valuables in it,” said Edgar.
“Shouldn’t wonder if there wor,” said Rooney.
“Eight or nine thousand pounds, more or less,” whispered the fiend, quoting words used by Mr Hazlit on a former occasion.
“Ah—jis’ so,” muttered Maxwell.
“Don’t you say a word more, David,” said the fiend.
“I wont,” muttered Maxwell’s heart; for the hearts of men are desperately wicked.