"Who's them?--tell away! I think that when I tell them you're my wife, and that the police have been looking for you for quite a while, they--whoever they may be!--won't be so keen to interfere with me as you perhaps fancy. There's another thing: you seem to be forgetting that you're my wife. When I do go you'll go with me." "Will I? We'll see." "We will see; or, if you prefer it, it shall be the other way about, I'll go with you." "Will you?" "It'll have to be one or the other, you may take it from me. Well, are you going to call those friends of yours? Are you coming with me, or am I to go with you? Which is it to be? I'm in no hurry; take your time. I'll have a pipe while you're thinking it over." He filled a pipe which he took from his pocket, while she glared at him. "I'm as strong as you; I believe I'm stronger; I believe I could kill you if I chose." "Be a murderer as well as a thief, would you? I shouldn't be surprised. You mightn't find it so easy to bring off this job as you did the other; killing a man is not so simple as killing a pig, take my word for it." "Listen to me, Gregory Lamb." "I'm listening, Mrs. Lamb, and it gives me real pleasure to do it." "I'll make a rich man of you if you'll take yourself off." He stayed the lighted match on its passage to his pipe. "You'll make a rich man of me? Now you're singing in quite another key. How are you going to do it?" "I'm staying in the house of a man who's dying." "Dying is he? Then what does he want you in the house for? Have you turned nurse? Is that your latest caper?" "Never mind what I've turned. He's a rich man." "What do you call rich?--like me?" "You fool! He owns all this"--she threw out her arms--"and ever so much besides." "Owns all this? Is it Cuthbert Grahame you're talking about?" "What do you know about Cuthbert Grahame?" "Only that I happen to be living in one of his cottages--just over there--and a nice hole it is. But you can't expect much in the way of board and lodging for a pound a week, especially when you want some change left out of it. You're living in Cuthbert Grahame's house? Why, then--great Scot!--you must be the woman they're talking about who dropped from the skies." A change took place in the expression of his countenance which in its way was comical. "A pretty sort of she-devil you must be!" "Now what are you talking about?" "I know everything. Why, one of the servants up at Cuthbert Grahame's--Martha Blair--is the daughter of the people I'm lodging with. They talk of nothing else but you. You've been passing yourself off as Cuthbert Grahame's wife." "Well, what of it?" "What of it?--that's good! First theft, then bigamy!" "You fool! he's dying." "I don't see what difference that makes; from what I understand he's been dying for years." "He's made a will in my favour." "Did he tell you?" "He did. He's left me everything--every shilling he has in the world." "You're a beauty, upon my soul you are!"