“That’s sealed close enough,” he said, laying down the paper on the table; “and that’s genuine,” he added, after submitting the bank note to an investigation before the candle, to ascertain the authenticity of the water-mark. “Is the five safe?” he said, still playing with the hundred in his hand.
“I’ll freely deposit that hundred as security,” returned Mr. Sloman, “and now, in a word, is the thing in your line? Will you do it?”
“Do what?” responded Mr. Brown, with a look of innocent surprise.
“My dear Brown,” returned Mr. Sloman, “what the devil use in dodging with a friend?”
“It’s you that’s dodging,” replied the amiable host; “pray may I read this paper?”
“Read it, if you please, but tell me nothing of the contents.”
“You’re a deep-un,” Slowey and Mr. Brown again passed the bank note between the candle and his eye. “Undeniable!” he muttered, and next moment he retired to the corner of the apartment, at the special solicitation of Mr. Sloman; and then having broken the seal of the packet, Brown read the writing, while Sloman, in perfect ignorance of its import, drew the decanter closer, and as cocknies say, “assisted” himself liberally to the contents.
When the worthy owner of the house had read the scroll, the effect upon him seemed astounding. His frame appeared convulsed, the lip whitened, and the hand that held the paper seemed scarcely able to retain it. He read it again and again, and then, crumpling it in his grasp, returned to the table, filled a glass of brandy, and drained it to the bottom; an example faithfully followed by his excellent friend, Mr. Sloman.
“Well, Mr. B., what say you?”
“This simply—the business shall be done.”