After being some time absent, as if in his covetousness he could hardly make up his mind to produce the treasure to his partner, he returned with an old leathern hatbox, into which he had put the other box, for the better preservation of commonplace appearances, and for the disarming of suspicion. “But I don’t half like opening it here,” said Silas in a low voice, looking around: “he might come back, he may not be gone; we don’t know what he may be up to, after what we’ve seen.”

“There’s something in that,” assented Venus. “Come to my place.”

Jealous of the custody of the box, and yet fearful of opening it under the existing circumstances, Wegg hesitated. “Come, I tell you,” repeated Venus, chafing, “to my place.” Not very well seeing his way to a refusal, Mr. Wegg then rejoined in a gush, “⁠—Hear me out!⁠—Certainly.” So he locked up the Bower and they set forth: Mr. Venus taking his arm, and keeping it with remarkable tenacity.