"Hatchie," said Jaspar, as the mulatto entered the library, "are the hands all in?"
"Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, whose penetrating mind detected the tremulous quiver of Jaspar's lip; "all in two hours ago, according to regulations."
"All right, then. You can go to bed now."
"Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, with his customary obeisance, as he turned to depart.
"Stay a moment. Go to Miss Emily, and get the keys of the secretary," said Jaspar, with assumed carelessness.
Hatchie obeyed; and, suspecting something before, he was confirmed in the opinion now, and determined to watch. His suspicions of something—he knew not what—had been excited by seeing Maxwell in earnest consultation with Jaspar on the day of the funeral. He had, of course, no idea of the plots of the latter; but, in common with all the "boys," he hated Jaspar, and was willing to know more of his transactions.
Giving the keys to Jaspar, he left the room, and heard the creaking of the bolt which fastened the door.
As soon as the servant had departed, Jaspar called his confederate from his concealment.
"Are you ready for business?" said he.
"I am," replied De Guy, "as soon as you pay me the first instalment. I can't take a single step in the dark."