"You dare to tell me that you hatched this damnable plot?"
The 'Bishop' lied: "Yes--I did."
"And with the money obtained under false pretences you bought a
saloon, you, a deacon of the Church of England?"
The 'Bishop' lied: "Yes--I did."
"The devil takes care of his own," said the parson, looking round, and
marking the comfort of the room.
"Not always," said the 'Bishop,' thinking of Dick.
"Well, sir," continued the parson, "I'm told that money can work
miracles in this country. And, by God! if my money can sent you to
gaol, you shall go there, as sure as my name is George Carteret."
"All right," said the 'Bishop.' "I--er--I don't blame you. I think
you're behaving with great moderation."
"Moderation! Confound it! sir, are you laughing at me?"
"The Lord forbid!" ejaculated Crisp.
"Men have been shot for less than this."
"There's a pistol in that drawer," said the 'Bishop' wearily. "You can
shoot if you want to. Your money can put me into gaol, as you say, and
keep you out of it, if--if you use that pistol."
Mr. Carteret stared. The 'Bishop' was beginning to puzzle him.
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