“Well, send her down there for a long stay. I’ll pay all expenses. So book the whole of it down to me. Here’s twenty pounds to go on with;” and, taking his banknote case from his pocket, he drew forth four five-pound notes.
“Yes, sir; but she may think it funny—and—”
“Funny!” cried his visitor. “Remember that you’re paid to see that she doesn’t think it funny. Have her back here, say next Tuesday, for a couple of days, and then send her off on a visit down to Bristol. You and Ted are able to rub along together very well without her.”
“Well—we feels the miss o’ the girl,” replied the old fellow, who, though honest and loyal, had fallen hopelessly into the trap which German double-dealing had prepared for him.
“Of course you do. I should—were I in your place,” was Rodwell’s response. “But the confidential business in which you and I are engaged just now is not one in which a woman has any concern. She’s out of place here; and, moreover, few women can keep a still tongue. Just reflect a moment. Suppose she told some friend of hers what was in progress under your roof? Well, the police would soon be out here to investigate, and you’d both find yourselves under arrest. No,” he added. “Keep your girl away from here—keep her away at all costs. That’s my advice.”
“Very well, sir, I will,” replied the wrinkled old fellow, rubbing the knees of his stained trousers with his hands, and drawing at his rather foul pipe. “I quite see your point. I’ll get the girl away to Bristol this week.”
“Oh! and there’s another thing. I’d better remain in here all day to-day, for I don’t want to be seen wandering about by anybody. They might suspect something. So if anyone happens to come in, mind they have no suspicion of my being here.”
“All right, sir. Leave that to me.”
“To-night, about ten or eleven, I’m expecting a lady down from London. She’s bringing me some important news. So you’d better get something or other for her to eat.”
“A bit o’ nice fish, perhaps?” the old fellow suggested as a luxury.