Dead Mens Money | Page 4

like me, but I was always delicate in that way, ever since I
was a nipper--strong as a bull in all else. But this word is private. Look
here, you're a lawyer's clerk?"
He had known that, of course, for some time--known that I was clerk to
a solicitor of the town, and hoping to get my articles, and in due course
become a solicitor myself. So there was no need for me to do more than
nod in silence.
"And being so," he went on, "you'll be a good hand at keeping a secret
very well. Can you keep one for me, now?"
He had put out one of his big hands as he spoke, and had gripped my
wrist with it--ill as he was, the grip of his fingers was like steel, and yet
I could see that he had no idea that he was doing more than laying his
hand on me with the appeal of a sick man.

"It depends what it is, Mr. Gilverthwaite," I answered. "I should like to
do anything I can for you."
"You wouldn't do it for nothing," he put in sharply. "Ill make it well
worth your while. See here!"
He took his hand away from my wrist, put it under his pillow, and drew
out a bank-note, which he unfolded before me.
"Ten pound!" he said. "It's yours, if you'll do a bit of a job for me--in
private. Ten pound'll be useful to you. What do you say, now?"
"That it depends on what it is," said I. "I'd be as glad of ten pounds as
anybody, but I must know first what I'm expected to do for it."
"It's an easy enough thing to do," he replied. "Only it's got to be done
this very night, and I'm laid here, and can't do it. You can do it, without
danger, and at little trouble--only--it must be done private."
"You want me to do something that nobody's to know about?" I asked.
"Precisely!" said he. "Nobody! Not even your mother--for even the best
of women have tongues."
I hesitated a little--something warned me that there was more in all this
than I saw or understood at the moment.
"I'll promise this, Mr. Gilverthwaite," I said presently. "If you'll tell me
now what it is you want, I'll keep that a dead secret from anybody for
ever. Whether I'll do it or not'll depend on the nature of your
communication."
"Well spoken, lad!" he answered, with a feeble laugh. "You've the
makings of a good lawyer, anyway. Well, now, it's this--do you know
this neighbourhood well?"
"I've never known any other," said I.
"Do you know where Till meets Tweed?" he asked.

"As well as I know my own mother's door!" I answered.
"You know where that old--what do they call it?--chapel, cell,
something of that nature, is?" he asked again.
"Aye!--well enough, Mr. Gilverthwaite," I answered him. "Ever since I
was in breeches!"
"Well," said he, "if I was my own man, I ought to meet another man
near there this very night. And--here I am!"
"You want me to meet this other man?" I asked.
"I'm offering you ten pound if you will," he answered, with a quick
look. "Aye, that is what I'm wanting!"
"To do--what?" I inquired.
"Simple enough," he said. "Nothing to do but to meet him, to give him
a word that'll establish what they term your bony fides, and a message
from me that I'll have you learn by heart before you go. No more!"
"There's no danger in it?" I asked.
"Not a spice of danger!" he asserted. "Not half as much as you'd find in
serving a writ."
"You seem inclined to pay very handsomely for it, all the same," I
remarked, still feeling a bit suspicious.
"And for a simple reason," he retorted. "I must have some one to do the
job--aye, if it costs twenty pound! Somebody must meet this friend o'
mine, and tonight--and why shouldn't you have ten pound as well as
another?"
"There's nothing to do but what you say?" I asked.
"Nothing--not a thing!" he affirmed.

"And the time?" I said. "And the word--for surety?"
"Eleven o'clock is the time," he answered. "Eleven--an hour before
midnight. And as for the word--get you to the place and wait about a bit,
and if you see nobody there, say out loud, 'From James Gilverthwaite
as is sick and can't come himself'; and when the man appears, as he will,
say--aye!--say 'Panama,' my lad, and he'll understand in a jiffy!"
"Eleven o'clock--Panama," said I. "And--the message?"
"Aye!" he answered, "the message. Just this, then: 'James Gilverthwaite
is laid by for a day or two, and you'll bide quiet in the place you know
of till you hear from him.' That's