‘Yes. That is, Mr Rodley, if you can prove anything against him. Of what do you accuse him?’
‘I accuse him of having lived during the past four years upon money which was not his, but which was stolen from Faraday’s Bank in Saint Quinians, which was taken off in a vessel called the Fancy Lass, the said vessel being wrecked off this coast.’
‘Very well,’ continued Bertha. ‘What is your proof that he knows anything about this money?’
‘One moment before I answer that. You refuse to marry me if I can bring no proof. You will marry me if I do?’
‘Show me the proof first,’ answered Bertha.
‘You must follow me, then.’
‘Not alone.—Father, you must come with me.’
So the trio proceeded out into the dusk, and, conducted by Jasper Rodley, followed the path leading to the cliffs. Bertha observed that they were followed at a little distance by a man closely enveloped in a long coat, and as they ascended the ledge of rock communicating with the shore, noticed two other figures—those of a man and a woman—watching them.
‘It’s a very nice little hiding-place,’ remarked Rodley, when they arrived at the bushes—‘a very nice little hiding-place, and it seems almost a pity to make it public property; but a proof is demanded, and sentimental feelings must give way.’ He smiled as he said this, and kicked the bush aside with his feet, thus uncovering the cavern entrance. They entered the hole, which was now quite dark; but Rodley had come prepared, and struck a light. He then rolled away the stone, and without looking himself, gave Bertha the light and bade her satisfy her doubts.
‘There is nothing here,’ she said.