‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within.
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