Ada, the Betrayed; Or, The Murder at the Old Smithy. A Romance of PassionRymer, James Malcolm
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Ada, the Betrayed; Or, The Murder at the Old Smithy. A Romance of Passion
Rymer, James Malcolm
English fiction -- 19th century; Penny dreadfuls
The distance was scarcely more than a long step from parapet to parapet.
The robber now slackened out some of the rope in order that by suddenly
jumping across the chasm he might not drag Gray from the slight
standing he had. Then, with the remainder of the rope on his arm, he
sprung across and alighted in safety in the gutter of the opposite
house.
“Jump now,” he said to Gray.
The distance was too insignificant to give occasion for fear, but still
Gray barely cleared it, and fell in the drain where the housebreaker
was standing.
“Well,” said the latter, “of all the awkward hands at business that
ever I saw you are the most awkward. It’s well for you there’s somebody
to look after you.”
He then undid a fastening on the outside of the attic window, and at
once jumped into the room, whither he was followed by Gray.
“You remain here,” he then said. “Don’t stir for your life, while I go
down stairs to speak to Bill.”
“You will not keep me here long?” said Gray.
“Not five minutes. Make no noise; but enjoy yourself as well as you
can.”
The man now left Gray to his meditations after carefully locking him in
the room, and these meditations were very far from an agreeable or
pleasant charae.
Gray’s first idea was that he would hide the money he had about him
with the exception of the amount he had averred to, namely, two hundred
pound, but then it naturally occurred to him how extremely improbable
it was that he should ever have an opportunity of repossessing himself
of it.
“Still,” he answered, with his usual selfish cunning; “still there may
be a remote, although a very remote chance; and, at all events, if I
never see it again myself, I may prevent these men from having it.”
Deep groans then burst from him, and he smote his breast as the thought
came across him that all the gold he had wrung from the guilty fear of
Learmont, and hoarded so carefully; might now be about to pass from him
in a mass never again to bless his sight.
“They will rob me—they will rob me,” he thought, and compared with
that, it appeared to him preferable to know that it was hidden from
them and undisposed of, although inaccessible to himself.
How and where to conceal it then became the object, and he felt about
in the dark to discover some loose board, or other means, of placing
his ill-gotten money out of sight—where, for all he knew, it might
remain until the coins of which it was composed, became blackened into
curiosities.
Such, however, was not to be the fate of Learmont’s gold, for while
Gray was still feeling about in the attic for a place of security in
which to deposit it, the door was suddenly opened, and his former
companion appeared, along with a shorter man, in whose countenance,
nature or education had taken especial pains to stamp villain!
“Here you are,” said the man who had guided Gray across the roofs.
“This is the gentleman, Bill. He was in an awkward fix, but now we mean
to do the thing handsomely by him, eh, Bill, don’t we?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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