"
He reached out a hand and gripped me by the elbow; and again his
brandy-laden breath sickened me as he drew me close.
"S'pose, now, _you_ was to do this for me? You _could_, you know.
And there's money in it--lashin's o' money!"
He winked at me, glanced around the room, and with an indescribable
air of slyness dived a hand into his breast-pocket.
"It's here," he nodded, drawing out a small parcel wrapped about in
what at first glance appeared to me an oilskin bag, tied about the
neck with a tarry string. "Here. And enough to set you an' me up
for life." His fingers fumbled with the string for two or three
seconds, but presently faltered. "You come to me to-morrow," he went
on, with another mysterious wink, "and I'll show you something.
Up the hill, past Market Strand, till you come to a signboard,
'G. Goodfellow. Funerals Furnished'--first turning to the right down
the court, and knock three times."
Here he whipped the parcel back into his pocket, picked up his
compasses, and made transparent pretence to be occupied in measuring
distances as Captain Branscome came down the stairs from the garret.
Captain Branscome gave no sign of observing his confusion, but
signalled to me to step outside with him into the alley, where he
pressed an envelope into my hand.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45