ly to want the money if I took all instead of
a quarter, and I won't take a penny more than that. It will only be a
loan after all, which, if he were like anyone else, I could openly ask
him for. Yes, I'll do it! If he sees through the trick, it will be easy
to say it was only a jest done to try him. But I think I can manage it
so quietly that he won't wake, and then I am safe."

On re-entering the room they had quitted--the only habitable
sitting-room the Priory could now boast--they found it untenanted, the
mother and daughter having retired for the night. The two men sat in
desultory conversation, maintained with some effort, until, in reply to
a question from Laurence, Meredith admitted that he had had a long day
and was inclined for bed. They went up together, and Laurence showed the
other into a large, barely-furnished, and somewhat desolate-looking
room, with two doors and one high, narrow, iron-barred window.

"Sorry we have no better quarters to offer you, Meredith."

"I am no sybarite, Verschoyle. You'll say that when you see my room at
home. My housekeeper is always bewailing my lack of appreciation of what
she calls comfort"--taking out his pocket-book as he spoke, and putting
it on to the dressing-table before removing his coat.

Laurence took quick note of the position of the book upon the table.
"Well, good-night, old fellow"; adding, with an elaborate assumption of
carelessness: "Oh, by the way, I'd nearly forgotten: there's a key in
that door--the one belonging to this must be lost, I fancy; but it seems
hermetically sealed. You can't open it, you see," turning and pulling at
the handle; "and you are safely barred in at the window," with a little
laugh.

"All right, Verschoyle. A barred window and a locked door ought to be
enough. Good-night," telling himself they must talk over things in the
morning. Too late to enter upon what he wanted to say, just then. In the
morning Verschoyle should be made to see that here was a friend who was
not to be put off; they must go into matters together. Verschoyle must
be induced to set to work, and in the meantime it must be so contrived
that the mother and daughter should be better cared for. "Tell him that
I have taken a great fancy to this old place; and, between ourselves,
give him a few thousands for it, perhaps--to be settled on them--yes,
certainly settled on them."

Once in his own room, Verschoyle sank into a seat and buried his face in
his hands. "If