London (England) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"You cursed fool!" snarled James Clareborough. "Bah! you always were an
idiot and a hindrance to our enterprise. You could spend your share
readily enough, but you were always like a log to drag at our heels."
"My dear boy!" cried the old professor, quickly, "hush, please; there
must be no quarrelling now; we have too much at stake."
"Yes, hang it all, Jem! do keep that vitriol tongue of yours quiet,"
cried Dennis.
"Who is to keep quiet when he listens to such idiotic drivel? Bring the
police in--set their detectives to examine the iron safe that they were
trying to force--to look at the jewels and plate stored up inside.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" he laughed discordantly. "Has Rob any brains at all?"
"Yes, yes; he spoke without thinking," said the old man, eagerly. "Rob,
my dear lad, you see it is impossible."
"Yes, Rob, old man, don't you see?" growled Dennis. "You can't say to
the hounds of the law, `You must stop your scent here.' Why, it would,
as they say, be blowing the whole gaff."
"Well, let it," cried Robert, bitterly; "let them find it out. I'm sick
of it all, and have been for years."
"Then you must get well again," said James Clareborough, fiercely.
"Yes, yes, he is upset," said the old man, quickly. "Robert's never
been himself since you fired at him, Jem. It was a mad act on your
part; but there, there! don't let's open old sores. Let me speak. Rob,
my dear boy, this is not a position in which a man can study self. We
are all linked together in this business, and the one who talks of
throwing it up talks of throwing his partners over. Think, my lad, of
what it means. You cannot draw back. It is impossible. This is a most
unhappy business, but the poor wretches brought their fate upon
themselves. They have fallen in our battle of life, and there is that
something to be done for all our sakes--our wives' and your sister's
sake. They must not know of this."
"That's right, uncle; that's right," growled Dennis. "Come, Rob, old
man, you must feel that this is good sound sense."
"Yes," said Rob, with a groan; "I suppose it is. There, uncle, go on."
"Yes, yes, my dear boy," cried the old man. "Well, here is our
position, to finish up what Jem has said. It would be easier and better
for us if we could call in the police and go through the inquest, but
you know it is impossible. Now then, has either of you anything to
propose over what must be done at once?"
There was utter silence, and Chester, as he stood there with a cold
perspiration making his hair cling to his temples, wondered that those
present did not detect the beating of his and his companion's hearts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account