“How much does the Government pay you?” Denby questioned.
Taylor’s eyes were still on the bills. “Three thousand a year,” he answered.
Denby inspected the crisp bills interestedly. “Ten years’ salary!” he commented. “You couldn’t save all this honestly in your lifetime.”
Denby raised his eyes and the two men looked at one another and a bargain was as certainly made as though documents had been drawn up attesting it.
Taylor’s manner altered instantly. He removed his hat and became a genial, not to say jocular, soul.
“Too bad,” he said sympathetically, “a mistake like that happening.”
“It is a bit inconvenient,” Denby allowed.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” the deputy-surveyor assured him, “but you’re all right, Mr. Denby. I figured from the first that you might be a business man, and that’s why you slipped through so easily.”
“You’re a pretty smart man, Mr. Taylor,” Denby admitted, “and I think these belong to you.” He held out the money.
“Yes, I think they do,” Taylor said eagerly, reaching out for the bills.