"A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. "Good gracious! so I do," exclaimed his amiable consort. She realized in a moment what had happened. You understand me, Charcoal. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly.
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