“Let him blab. I wish he’d clear up everything,” growled, or rather groaned, Gilks.
“Look here!” said Silk, stopping short in his walk and rounding on his victim. “I’ve had quite enough of this, and you’d better shut up. You know I could make you sorry for it if I chose.”
Gilks said nothing, but walked on sullenly.
“And the worse thing about it,” continued Silk, “is that now Wyndham and Riddell are as thick as brothers, and the young toady’s sure to tell him everything.”
“And suppose he does?”
“There’s no suppose about it. I don’t choose to have it, I tell you.”
“How can you help it?” said Gilks.
“We must get hold of the young ’un again,” said Silk, “and you’ll have to manage it.”
“Who?—I?” said Gilks, with a bitter laugh.
“Yes, you. And don’t talk so loud, do you hear? You’ll have to manage it, and I think I can put you up to a way for getting hold of him.”