“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the old man; “we had betther go into the next room. Here, Polly,” he shouted to his wife, who was inside, “will you come and stand the shop awhile?”
“To be sure I will,” replied the old woman, making her appearance. “How do you do, sir,” she added, addressing the stranger; “I am glad to see you looking so well.”
“Thank you, madam,” replied the stranger: “I can return the compliment, as they say.”
“Keep the shop, Polly,” said the old man sharply, “and don't make the same mistake you made awhile ago—give away a stone o' meal for half a stone. No wondher for us to be poor at sich a rate of doin' things as that. Walk in, if you plaise, sir.”
They accordingly entered the room, and the stranger, after they had taken seats, resumed,
“I was going to say, Corbet, that nothing can convince me that you don't know more about the disappearance of Lady Gourlay's heir than you are disposed to acknowledge.”
The hard, severe, disagreeable expression returned once more to his features, as he replied,
“Troth, sir, it appears you will believe so, whether or not. But now, sir, in case I did, what would you say? I'm talkin' for supposition's sake, mind. Wouldn't a man desarve something that could give you information on the subject?”
“This avaricious old man,” thought the stranger, pausing as if to consider the proposition, “was holding us out all along, in order to make the most of his information. The information, however, is already in our possession, and he comes too late. So far I am gratified that we are in a position to punish him by disappointing his avarice.”
“We would, Corbet, if the information were necessary, but at present it is not; we don't require it.”