Hall had now learned all he wanted and more than he expected.
"Well, you've been talking about this thing for over two years now, and it's time I saw something to prove all this. What do you want for the papers?"
"Five thousand pounds."
"Five thousand grandmothers! Why, you must be crazy!"
"Five thousand, and not a penny less," returned the old man, firmly.
Hall did not speak again for a few minutes. He looked thoughtfully at the old man as though considering his proposition. The latter, ever since Hall had located the papers, had watched him suspiciously, and had moved his chair so that they sat directly in front of each other. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his loose sack coat, and Hall as he gazed at him, saw the butt of a pistol peeping from the right hand pocket. He had heard or read somewhere of the Australian trick of shooting through the pocket, and he smiled wickedly when he caught sight of the pistol. It may be that what followed would not have happened had he not seen it.
The smile made the old man move nervously in his chair, and that recalled Hall.
"Well, since you will not take less, I suppose you must have the five thousand; but what will you do with it, you, an old man, who may be dead in an hour?"
Hall's face wore a perfectly devilish smile as he said this, and the old man felt anything but comfortable.
"Look-a-here, Mr. Hall," he said, nervously, "don't you try to play any games on me!"