“I shall not,” was Levi’s open reply.
“I’m master here. I order you to go!” cried Sam Statham in an angry, commanding tone.
“And I refuse. I will not allow you to run any further risk.”
“What do you anticipate?” his master asked with sarcasm. “Are you expecting that my enemies intend to kill me in secret. If so, I can quickly disabuse your mind. It would not be to their interests if I were dead, for they could not then bleed me, as is, no doubt, their intention. I know Adams and his friends.”
“So do I,” declared Levi. “Whatever plot they have formed against you is no doubt clever and ingenious. They are not men to act until every preparation is complete.”
“Then why fear for my personal safety?” asked the millionaire. “I always have this—and I can use it,” and he drew from his pocket something which glistened in the darkness—a neat plated revolver.
“I fear, because of late you’ve acted so injudiciously.”
“Through ignorance. I believed myself to be more shrewd than I really am. You see I admit my failing to you, Levi. But only to you—to nobody else. The City believes Sam Statham to possess the keenest mind and sharpest wits of any man between Temple Bar and Aldgate. Strange, isn’t it, that each one of us earns a reputation for something in which really does not excel?”
“You excel in disbelieving everybody,” remarked Levi outspokenly. “If you believed that there was some little honesty in human nature you might have been spared the present danger.”
“You mean I’m too suspicious—eh? My experience of life has made me so,” he growled. “Of the thousand employees I possess, is there a man among them honest? And as for my friends, is there one I can trust—except Ben and yourself, of course?”