Finding nothing, he sat again on the table, with his hands in the pockets of his velveteen corduroy coat. His face-twist grew more marked as he wrinkled the setting of a calculating eye. "I should have to square it with Miss Juliar," said he, in soliloquy. He was evidently clear about his meaning, whatever it was.
"Ah, I see! I've been at Sevenoaks." "Well there she had been and gone away to town again. Then says I, 'What's her address? So they told me they didn't know, it was so long agone. But the old woman her name was Killick, or Forbes was it? no, Killick remembered directing on a letter to Mrs. Daverill, Sapps Court. And Juliar here she said she'd heard tell of Sapps Court.
"I got a letter for you, missis," said Micky. "Sure it ain't for somebody else? Let's have a look at it." "No 'urry! Tork it over first that's my marxim! Look ye here. Miss Juliar, this is my way of putting of it. Here's three-halfpence, over the beer. Here's the corner of the letter, stickin' out of my porket. Now which'll you have, the letter or the three-halfpence? Make your ch'ice.
And what did they matter? "You're mighty wise, Juliar, about the party of the house and the fifty-pun' reward." So said the convict when the woman came back, after seeing that Micky had crossed the wall unmolested by authority. "Folk ain't in any such a hurry to get a man hanged when they know what'll happen if they fail of doing it. Not even for fifty pound!" "What will happen?"
"Mrs. Treadwell's nephew Michael from next door says he's got a message for you, and you can say if you'll see him. Or not." This was spoken snappishly, as though a coolness were afoot. The man replied with mock amiability, meant to irritate. "You can send him in here, Juliar. You're open to."
They're good judges of a fine woman. An orphan you was, too, and the mourning sooted you, prime!" He looked lazily at her, puffing not without admiration, of a sort. Her resentment seemed to gratify him more than any subserviency. He continued: "Well, nobody can say I haven't offered to make an honest woman of you, Juliar." "Much it was worth, your offer! As if you was free!
One would have thought the first instinct of regained freedom would have been to let it grow. Miss Hawkins looked at him without admiration. "I often wonder," said she, "at the many risks I run to shelter you, for you're a bloody-minded knave, and that's the truth. It was a near touch but I might have lost my licence, last time." "The Beaks were took with your good looks, Juliar.
That "no" in the letter was not the work of its writer. "I put it in its invellop, Daverill, and not a soul see inside that letter from me till you...." "How do you know that?" He paused, reflecting. "It wasn't Juliar. She'd got no ink." This man was clever enough to outwit Scotland Yard, with an offer of fifty pounds for his capture, but fell easily to the cunning of a woman, roused by jealousy.
It made streaks. It had its effect on Daverill, soothing his complaisant mood, making him even more cunning than before. "I'll get it out of her, Juliar," said he, "and you shall have it to tear up, to your heart's content. It don't make one farthing's worth of difference, that I see. But have it your own choice. A woman's a woman!" There seems no place in this for Mr.
For Miss Hawkins, even as a woman stung by a cruel insult, had shown her flashing eyes, heightened colour, and panting bosom at the bar-opening as before. Mr. Wix seemed gratified. "Pity you don't flare up oftener, Juliar," said he. "You've no idea what a much better woman you look. Damn it, but you do!" The woman made an effort, and choked her anger.