old oven with shaking hands and drew out a bag, which—thanks be! gave forth the sound of coins.
"See here, doctor, this is gold, gold—all mine! I come here and count it—there are eight bags—eight hundred pounds." He was talking in an excited whisper, his eyes flashing and his hands trembling. "All mine—and nobody knows."
"I see," I said. "And all this is for Polly?"
"Yes! Yes! When I'm dead and gone. But this is not all. Come."
To make a short story of it, I followed him round the tumble-down old place into all sorts of queer and uncanny holes and corners, and by the time he had finished I was half-dazed with my luck.
He had just about seven thousand pounds in gold hidden away in that ramshackle old house, and this, except a small sum for Polly, would be a most acceptable addition to my very impoverished exchequer.
How much did Miss Polly know? How often had she followed her uncle in his midnight excursions? I must make it my business to find answers to these questions before assisting my patient across Styx.
