"Who hired me to do it? Who put me up to the job, as far as that goes?" "Hush! Walls have ears. Let us return to business." "That suits me." "Look here, Tim Bolton," said Curtis, drawing up a chair, and lowering his voice to a confidential pitch, "you say you want money?" "Of course I do." "Well, I don't give money for nothing." "I know that. What's wanted now?" "You say the boy is alive?" "He's very much alive." "Is there any necessity for his living?" asked Curtis, in a sharp, hissing tone, fixing his eyes searchingly on Bolton, to see how his hint would be taken. "You mean that you want me to murder him?" said Bolton, quickly. "Why not? You don't look over scrupulous." "I am a bad man, I admit it," said Bolton, with a gesture of repugnance, "a thief, a low blackguard, perhaps, but, thank Heaven! I am no murderer! And if I was, I wouldn't spill a drop of that boy's blood for the fortune that is his by right." "I didn't give you credit for so much sentiment, Bolton," said Curtis, with a sneer. "You don't look like it, but appearances are deceitful. We'll drop the subject. You can serve me in another way. Can you open this secretary?" "Yes; that's in my line." "There is a paper in it that I want. It is my uncle's will. I have a curiosity to read it." "I understand. Well, I'm agreeable." "If you find any money or valuables, you are welcome to them. I only want the paper. When will you make the attempt?" "To-morrow night. When will it be safe?"