“It’s a secret I cannot tell without putting you in the same position as myself, and then you know my claim for giving you the information wouldn’t be worth much, and I want a stiff sum, I do,” responded Chewkle, with a marked emphasis upon the last sentence.
“I suppose I may ask how you came to find this man out, and how you obtained from him the information you have already given to me?” asked Gomer, regarding him with a penetrating glance.
“Yes,” said Chewkle, assuming an indifferent tone, although he was aware he was treading on delicate ground; “I employed the man to carry some messages for me, and other little matters, and one day I treated him to some beer. Over the drink he repeated some of the things as had occurred to him years ago. While he was talking, I found the circumstances he related tallied with what Mr. Grahame and old Wilton wanted to clear up, and then I went quickly to work, and sucked him as dry as a pump that’s given it’s last drop.”
“You hinted to him, of course, that what he was telling to you might turn out of value to both,” suggested Gomer.
“Not a word,” returned Chewkle, with a wink. “No, no; if I’d put him up to that I might have hook’d for my share of the--the----”
“Not ’zactly that,” he said, “but the price of producing the man and giving a large fortune to Mr. Wilton.”
“Then he remains still in ignorance of the service he might be to Mr. Wilton,” said Gomer as if thoughtfully. “Strange, that, very strange.”
“Not strange, when you remembers that Wilton’s father and mother were married in disguised names,” said Chewkle.
Nathan Gomer felt greatly disposed to give way to a whistle, but he restrained his feelings, and though he felt astonished he looked composed.
After a minute’s reflection, he said to Chewkle--
“When can you produce Mr.------? What did you say his name was?”
“Don’t flurry yourself about his name,” returned Chewkle; “it’s the man you want. Let me see, Thursday, Friday, Saturday--in ten days from this I can do it.”
“How much does that mean--open your mouth?” exclaimed Nathan, with a grin.
“A hun--two--a--a thousand pounds,” cried Chewkle, with a sudden bound from the sum he purposed at first asking.
“And worth it, I should say,” returned Mr. Nathan