I said was true--though it wasn't the whole truth.
Look to the trial, Sir, and you'll see 'twas Mr. Archer and Glascock
that swore home against my lord--not I. And I don't think myself,
Glascock was in the room at all when it happened--so I don't.'

'And where _is_ that wretch, Glascock, and that double murderer Archer;
where is _he?_'

'Well, Glascock's making clay.'

'What do you mean?'

'Under ground, this many a day. Listen: Mr. Archer went up to London,
and he was staying at the Hummums, and Glascock agreed with me to leave
the "Pied Horse." We were both uneasy, and planned to go up to London
together; and what does he do--nothing less would serve him--but he
writes a sort of letter, asking money of Mr. Archer under a threat.
This, you know, was after the trial. Well, there came no answer; but
after a while--all on a sudden--Mr. Archer arrives himself at the "Pied
Horse;" I did not know then that Glascock had writ to him--for he meant
to keep whatever he might get to himself. "So," says Mr. Archer to me,
meeting me by the pump in the stable-yard, "that was a clever letter you
and Glascock wrote to me in town."

'So I told him 'twas the first I heard of it.

'"Why," says he, "do you mean to tell me you don't want money?"

'I don't know why it was, but a sort of a turn came over me and I said,
"_No_."

'"Well," says he, "I'm going to sell a horse, and I expect to be paid
to-morrow; you and Glascock must wait for me outside"--I think the name
of the village was Merton--I'm not sure, for I never seen it before or
since--"and I'll give you some money then."

'"I'll have none," says I.

'"What, no money?" says he. "Come, come."

'"I tell you, Sir, I'll have none," says I. Something, you see, came
over me, and I was more determined than ever. I was always afeard of
him, but I feared him like Beelzebub now. "I've had enough of your
money, Sir; and I tell you what, Mr. Archer, I think 'tis best to end
our dealings, and I'd rather, if you please, Sir, never trouble you
more."

'"You're a queer dog," says he, with his eye fast on me, and musing for
a while--as if he could see into my brain, and was diverted by what he
found there;--"you're a queer dog, Irons. Glascock knows the world
better, you see; and as you and he are going up to London together, and
I must give the poor devil a lift, I'll meet you at the other side of
Merton, beyond the quarry--you know the moor--on Friday evening, after
dark--say seven