“If you can help him—if you can tell me anything of service—you shall be paid liberally,” she responded eagerly.
The weak eyes of the little man twinkled and he moistened his lips again. “I want—say fifty pounds?” he hazarded.
“It is yours. Tell me what you know.”
“I should like”—he hesitated, and turned his hat round and round—“I should like an open cheque—first.”
She went straight to a desk in a corner of the room; was busy for a moment; and then looked round at him. “To whom shall I make it payable?” she asked.
“Cripps is my name—Dr. J. Cripps, if you please.”
She brought him the piece of paper, and he read it greedily and thrust it in his pocket; seemed to hesitate a little longer; and finally said what he had made up his mind to say.
“My dear young lady—I am not usually sober enough to give a clear opinion upon anything; force of circumstances has kept me sober for nearly a week, and I am clearer about the head than usual. I can only say this: to the best of my knowledge and belief, there are two Dandy Chaters.”
“Two!” she echoed, in a whisper.
“Two. One was fished out of the Thames some days ago, and has been buried as an unknown man; the other is in Chelmsford Jail—or wandering about the country—I don’t know which. I only know that there are two of them.”