He ordered Chewkle a stiff glass of a compound called, by a most elastic stretch of the imagination, brandy and water, and when they were alone, and Chewkle actively engaged in disposing of his powerful beverage, Nathan briefly told him that he had decided to take no steps in the matter, upon which he, Chewkle, had, on the previous evening, visited him. “You’ve made up your mind to that, eh?” said Chewkle, eyeing him steadfastly. “Quite: I am resolved,” was the reply. “You may change your mind?” suggested Chewkle. “No,” said Gomer. “Nothing will make me alter my determination.” “I can,” observed Chewkle, emphatically. “No; the same propositions and inducements have been held out before, but proved, after considerable cost, valueless.” “This won’t,” urged Chewkle. Nathan Gomer shook his head. “I tell you it won’t!” cried Chewkle, almost fiercely. “Look a-here!” he exclaimed, in a lower tone, and touching Nathan on the sleeve; “you’d rather Wilton have the property than Grahame, wouldn’t you?” Nathan nodded. “Well, suppose the man I spoke to you about last night was to die?” “To die?” echoed Nathan, coldly. “Yes, was to die all of a sudding, and I was to put into Grahame’s hand a cettifyket of the man’s death? He would push on his claim. Wilton’s only chance would be floored, and Grahame must win.” “But the man is healthy, and won’t die,” suggested Gomer, with a _nonchalant_ air, which had its effect. “Healthy men die very suddenly sometimes, you know,” said Chewkle, in a meaning tone; “and its a strornirary fact that men who are wanted out o’ the way goes out of the way jest in the nick o’ time.” Nathan felt the roots of his hair tingle and vibrate. The scoundrel meant murder: he was sure of that. He made no answer. Chewlde dropped his head suddenly, and hissed in Nathan’s ear. “S’pose old Wilton hisself was to turn up his toes when he was out a walking, eh? I ’spects Grahame would come in for the swag then, eh? Grahame’s a keen sort, I can tell you.” Nathan’s face grew a deeper amber than ever; his eyes almost blazed in their brightness; he felt a kind of choking sensation; but he controlled himself. “Wilton has a son,” he murmured. “Gone away--not known where, as they says on the enwellops when a lawyer’s letter, with a writ in it, comes back,” replied Chewkle, quickly. “Ah!” he added, “Grahame would have possession of the lot before that young un turned up, and if he ever should show again, he wouldn’t easily get out of the Scotchman’s clutches.” Nathan Gomer mused; presently he said-- “There is something in your suggestion worth consideration.” “I knows there is,” chimed in Chewkle. “I may, therefore, alter my mind in so far as paying Wilton a visit, and consulting with him upon it,” observed Gomer; “but, really, I don’t think anything will come of it in the face of the arrangement now being effected,” he continued. “Are the dockyments signed by both parties?” inquired Chewkle, rather eagerly.