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The Vast Abyss
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“Course I will.”
“There; now tell me.”
Pete took the shilling handed, made believe to spit upon it, and thrust it into his pocket.
“Winders is fastened up tight now.”
“What, those up higher too?”
“Yes; all on ’em.”
“Then how am I to get in?”
Pete laughed softly, and Sam grew angry.
“I thought so,” he whispered. “You don’t know.”
“Oh, don’t I just?” said Pete, with his sniggering laugh. “I said I’d tell yer, and I will.”
“Quick then. How?”
“There’s a kind o’ door up atop as opens right over and lies on its back. It’s got a bolt to it, but you can shove yer hand under when yer gets up inside them little palings and push it back. Then yer can open the door and get in.”
“How do you know?” said Sam sharply.
“How do I know? ’Cause I’ve done it.”
“But up there? How did you get up?”
“Ladder,” said the lad laconically.
“What, is there a ladder here?”
“No,” said Pete.
“Bah!” ejaculated Sam. “What’s the good of telling me that, then?”
Pete chuckled now with satisfaction, as if he enjoyed his companion’s trouble.
“I know where there’s a ladder,” he said.
“One we could get?”
“You couldn’t. I could.”
“Get it for me, then, there’s a good fellow.”
“Ha, ha! Oh, I say; arn’t you getting jolly civil!”
“Hush!” whispered Sam excitedly. “Don’t make that noise. Some one will hear.”
“Yah! There’s no one to hear! The old man’s gone out, and old Mother Fidler’s fast asleep, and snoring by this time.”
“But there’s he,” whispered Sam.
“What, young Tom Blount? Yah! Not him: he won’t come.”
“Where’s the ladder?” whispered Sam, in agony.
“Don’t I tell yer, yer couldn’t get it if yer did know!”
“Then will you get it for me?”
“Give’s another shillin’, and I will.”
“Oh!” groaned Sam. “I’ve given you too much now.”
“All right. I don’t want the ladder. I arn’t going to fetch that and carry it ever so far for nothin’.”
“But is it long enough?”
“Yes; just reaches up to them railings outside the top door. Yer can’t get in without.”
“If I give you another shilling – the last, mind – will you fetch me a ladder?”
“Course I will.”
“All right then; make haste.”
“Give us the shillin’ first.”
“Then you won’t fetch the ladder.”
“Oh yes, I will – honour bright.”
Sam unwillingly produced another shilling.
“There, that’s the last I’m going to give you,” he whispered. “Now, then, fetch the ladder quickly.”
Chapter Forty Four
He uttered his low, sniggering, malicious laugh again, and without a word went off towards the back, disappearing into the darkness, and then, unseen by Sam, crawling over the wall like some great dark slug, leaving the London boy alone with his thoughts, as he kept close up to the mill, and gazed toward the cottage, dreading moment by moment an interruption from that direction.
His thoughts were not pleasant company. For there he was upon his uncle’s property, feeling that not only had he come down there in the character of a thief, but circumstances had forced him into taking for confederate about as low-typed and blackguardly a young scoundrel as there was for twenty miles round. He had been forced to bribe the fellow heavily for him, and in addition to place himself entirely at his mercy, so that in the future, if he was successful in getting the papers, this scoundrel would be always coming upon him for money, and getting it by threats.
“I can’t help it,” muttered Sam; “it’s the gov’nor’s fault, and he’ll have to pay for it all. He sent me, and – pooh, it isn’t stealing. It’s all in the family, and I’ve a better right to have what there is than young Tom Blount.”
Sam tried to think of other things, but two matters had it all their own way – the dread of being caught, and the coming of Pete with the ladder.
Другие электронные книги автора George Fenn
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