“Burn it?” exclaimed the other. “No, mister; we don’t burn nothin’, William and me. You know where you put it, William dear, in the old place.” “Then curse you for an avaricious old devil,” thundered Monk. “The book has been stolen--do you hear!--stolen by that young painter!” He could say no more, the effect of his words upon William Jones was electrical. He gave one wild shriek, and began tearing his hair. It now became his turn to moan and rave, and for some time nothing coherent could be got from him. At length, however, Monk gathered that there was some secret hiding-place which Brinkley had discovered. “I thought his poking and prying meant summat,” moaned William Jones. “I fancied, too, I seen marks i’ the sand, but I never could find no one near, and I thought they was my own marks. Oh, what will come to me! I’m ruined!” “Curse your folly!” exclaimed Monk, “you’ve brought it all on yourself by your own greed, and you don’t deserve I should help you; but I _will_ help you! Listen, then! It is clear that this young man has possessed himself somehow of your secret and mine. But from what he said to me, I fancy he has not as yet divulged it to a single soul. He is the only human being we have to fear. We must cease to fear him. Do you understand?” No, William Jones did not understand; so in order to make his meaning clear, Mr. Monk drew him out from the cottage, and whispered something in his ear. William Jones turned as white as death, and began to tremble all over. “I couldn’t do it, sir,” he moaned. “Look ye now--I couldn’t do it!” Monk stamped his foot impatiently; then he turned to his frightened victim. “Listen to me, William Jones. You ought to know by this time that I have both the power and determination to effect my ends. Continue to oppose me, and play the fool, and all that power shall be used against _you_. Do you hear? I will ruin, you! I will hand you over to the authorities as a thief--I will have you tried for concealing the papers which might have proved the identity of the child found washed ashore fifteen years ago! Do you hear?” Mr. Monk evidently knew the nature of the man with whom he had to deal, for after a little more conversation William Jones, cowering like a frightened child, promised implicit obedience. “Now, then,” said Monk, when he had brought matters to a satisfactory termination, “you will show me this hiding-place of yours.” To this William Jones at first objected, but Monk was firm. “Who knows,” said he, “but there may be other things having reference to the child? I mean to see for myself. Now, William Jones.” So William Jones, seeing that resistance would be useless, promised to conduct his friend to the cave; and after a good deal of hesitation and of continued show of unwillingness on William Jones’s part, the two men started off.