"Stay! the box is with you, is it?" asked the chaplain, as a man who clutches at a straw.
"Fool!" snapped Tubal Ammon. "Have I not told thee so at least a dozen times already. Three--four--five----"
"Then prove it! Let me see it. Thou hast not done that yet."
"True, by my life, for once. Then here it is. Six----"
"Ah, my wee, black, bonny bairn! How dear thou wast to me! Wilt let me hold it, friend?"
"Yes, when the gold is counted out. Not till. Seven--eight. Nine!"
"Hast the key to it?"
"Nay, how should I? But 'tis easily forced open."
"Then I must prove the contents ere I pay so vast a sum. That is but fair; for, look you, friend, the box might very well be empty."
"'Tis not so," answered Ammon. "Listen!" He shook it, and I heard the fatal papers rustle.