'"No; 'tis your money, Sir--I've no right to a sixpence--and I won't
have it," says I; "and there's an end."
'"Well, Glascock, what say you?--you hear Irons."
'"Let Irons speak for himself--he's nothing to me. You should have
considered me when all that money was took from Mr. Beauclerc--one done
as much as another--and if 'twas no more than holding my tongue, still
'tis worth a deal to you."
'"I don't deny--a deal--everything. Come--there's sixty pounds
here--but, mark, 'tis all I have--how much?"
'"I'll have thirty, and I'll take no less," says Glascock, surly enough.
'"Thirty! 'tis a good deal--but all considered--perhaps not too much,"
says Mr. Archer.
'And with that he took his right hand from his breeches' pocket, and
shot him through the heart with a pistol.
'Neither word, nor stir, nor groan, did Glascock make; but with a sort
of a jerk, flat on his back he fell, with his head on the verge of the
tarn.
'I believe I said something--I don't know--I was almost as dead as
himself--for I did not think anything _that_ bad was near at all.
'"Come, Irons--what ails you--steady, Sir--lend me a hand, and you'll
take no harm.
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