"You lie! You don't! You know I han't a pig of his money, and never hurt a hair of his head. You say that to rile me, jest."
"Why should I care a cuss whether you're riled or no? Do you think I want to get anything out o' yer? I knows everything as well as you do yourself. You take me for a queer gill, I'm thinking; that's not my lay. I wouldn't wait here while you'd walk round my hoss to have every secret you ever know'd."
"A queer gill, mayhap. I think I know you," said Mr. Davies, archly.
"You do, do ye? Well, come, who do you take me for?" said the stranger, turning towards him, and sitting erect in the saddle, with his
hand on his thigh, to afford him the amplest view of his face and figure.
"Then I take you for Mr. Longcluse," said Paul Davies, with a wag of his head.
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"For Mr. Longcluse!" echoed the horseman, with a boisterous laugh. "Well, there's a guess to tumble to! The worst guess I ever heer'd made. Did you ever see him? Why, there's not two bones in our two bodies the same length, and not two inches of our two faces alike. There's a guess for a detective! Be my soul, it's well for you it ain't him, for I think he'd a shot ye!"
The rider lifted his hand from his coat-pocket as he said this, but there was no weapon in it. Mistaking his intention, however, Paul
Davies skipped behind the tree, and levelled a revolver at him.
"Down with that, you fool!" cried the horseman. "There's nothing here." And he gave his horse the spur, and made him plunge to a little distance, as he held up his right hand. "But I'm not such a fool as to meet a cove like you without the lead towels, too, in case you should try that dodge." And dipping his hand swiftly into his pocket again, he also showed in the air the glimmering barrels of
a pistol. "If you must be pullin' out your barkers every minute, and can't talk like a man, where's the good of coming all this way to palaver with a cove. It ain't not tuppence to me. Crack away if you likes it, and see who shoots best; or, if you likes it better, I don't mind if I get down and try who can hit hardest t'other way, and you'll find my fist tastes very strong of the hammer."
"I thought you were up for mischief," said Davies, "and I won't be polished off simple, that's all. It's best to keep as we are, and no nearer; we can hear one another well enough where we stand."
"It's a bargain," said the stranger, "and I don't care a cuss who you take me for. I'm not Mr. Longcluse; but you're welcome, if it pleases you, to give me his name, and I wish I could have the old bloke's tin as easy. Now here's my little game, and I don't find it a bad one. When two gentlemen--we'll say, for instance, you and Mr. Longcluse--differs in opinion (you says he did a certain thing, and he says he didn't, or goes the whole hog and says you did it, and not him), it's plain, if the matter is to be settled amigable, it's best to have a man as knows what he's about, and can find out the cove as threatens the rich fellow, and deal with him handsome, according to circumstances. My terms is moderate. I takes five shillins in the pound, and not a pig under; and that puts you and I in the same boat, d'ye see? Well, I gets all I can out of him, and no harm can happen me, for I'm but a cove a-carryin' of messages betwixt you, and the more I gets for you the better for me. I settled many a business amigable the last five years that would never have bin settled without me. I'm well knowing to some of the swellest lawyers in town, and whenever they has a dilikite case, like a gentleman threatened with informations or the like, they sends for me, and I arranges it amigable, to the satisfacshing of both parties. It's the only way to settle sich affairs with good profit and no risk. I have spoke to Mr. Longcluse. He was all for having your four bones in
the block-house, and yourself on the twister; and he's not a cove to be bilked out of his tin. But he would not like the bother of your
cross-charge, either, and I think I could make all square between ye. What do you say?"
"How can I tell that you ever set eyes on Mr. Longcluse?" said Davies, more satisfied as the conference proceeded that he had misdi-rected his first guess at the identity of the horseman. "How can I tell you're not just a-gettin' all you can out o' me, to make what you can of it on your own account in that market?"
"That's true, you can't tell, mate."
"And what do I know about you? What's your name?" pursued Paul Davies.
"I forgot my name, I left it at home in the cupboard; and you know nothing about me, that's true, excepting what I told you, and you'll hear no more."
"I'm too old a bird for that; you're a born genius, only spoilt in the baking. I'm thinking, mate, I may as well paddle my own canoe, and sell my own secret on my own account. What can you do for me that I can't do as well for myself ?"
"You don't think that, Paul. You dare not show to Mr. Longcluse, and you know he's in a wax; and who can you send to him? You'll make nothing o' that brag. Where's the good of talking like a blast to a chap like me? Don't you suppose I take all that at its vally?
I tell you what, if it ain't settled now, you'll see me no more, for I'll not undertake it." He pulled up his horse's head, preparatory to starting.
"Well, what's up now?--what's the hurry?" demanded Mr. Davies.
"Why, if this here meetin' won't lead to business, the sooner we two parts and gets home again, the less time wasted," answered the cavalier, with his hand on the crupper of the saddle, as he turned to speak.
Each seemed to wait for the other to add something.
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CHAPTER XVII.
MR. LONGCLUSE AT MORTLAKE HALL.
F you let me go this time, Mr. Wheeler, you'll not catch me a-walking out here again," said Mr. Davies sourly. "If there's business to be done, now's the time."
"Well, I can't make it no plainer--'tis as clear as mud in a wine-glass," said the mounted man gaily, and again he shook the bridle and hitched himself in the saddle, and the horse stirred uneasily, as he added, "Have you any more to say?"
"Well, supposin' I say ay, how soon will it be settled?" said Paul Davies, beginning to think better of it.
"These things doesn't take long with a rich cove like Mr. Longcluse. It's where they has to scrape it up, by beggin' here and borrowin' there, and sellin' this and spoutin' that--there's a wait always. But a chap with no end o' tin--that has only to wish and have--that's your sort. He swears a bit, and threatens, and stamps, and loses his temper summat, ye see; and if I was the prencipal, like you are
in this 'ere case, and the police convenient, or a poker in his fist, he might make a row. But seein' I'm only a messenger like, it don't come to nothin'. He claps his hand in his pocket, and outs with the rino, and there's all; and jest a bit of paper to sign. But I won't stay here no longer. I'm getting a bit cold myself; so it's on or off now. Go yourself to Longcluse, if you like, and see if you don't catch it. The least you get will be seven-penn'orth, for extortin' money by threatenin' a prosecution, if he don't hang you for the murder of the Saloon cove. How would you like that?"
"It ain't the physic that suits my complaint, guvnor. But I have him there. I have the statement wrote, in sure hands, and other hevi-dence, as he may suppose, and dated, and signed by respectable people; and I know his dodge. He thinks he came out first with his charge against me, but he's out there; and if he will have it, and I split, he'd best look slippy."
"And how much do you want? Mind, I'll funk him all I can, though he's a wideawake chap; for it's my game to get every pig I can out of him."
"I'll take two thousand pounds, and go to Canada or to New York, my passage and expenses being paid, and sign anything in reason he wants; and that's the shortest chalk I'll offer."
"Don't you wish you may get it? I do, I know, but I'm thinking you might jest as well look for the naytional debt."
"What's your name?" again asked Davies, a little abruptly.
"My name fell out o' window and was broke, last Tuesday mornin'. But call me Tom Wheeler,