Silas took his seat in silence on the wooden box before the fire, and Venus dropping into his low chair produced from among his skeleton hands, his tea-tray and teacups, and put the kettle on. Silas inwardly approved of these preparations, trusting they might end in Mr. Venus’s diluting his intellect.
“Now, sir,” said Venus, “all is safe and quiet. Let us see this discovery.”
With still reluctant hands, and not without several glances towards the skeleton hands, as if he mistrusted that a couple of them might spring forth and clutch the document, Wegg opened the hatbox and revealed the cashbox, opened the cashbox and revealed the will. He held a corner of it tight, while Venus, taking hold of another corner, searchingly and attentively read it.
“Was I correct in my account of it, partner?” said Mr. Wegg at length.
“Partner, you were,” said Mr. Venus.
Mr. Wegg thereupon made an easy, graceful movement, as though he would fold it up; but Mr. Venus held on by his corner.
“No, sir,” said Mr. Venus, winking his weak eyes and shaking his head. “No, partner. The question is now brought up, who is going to take care of this. Do you know who is going to take care of this, partner?”
“I am,” said Wegg.
“Oh dear no, partner,” retorted Venus. “That’s a mistake. I am. Now look here, Mr. Wegg. I don’t want to have any words with you, and still less do I want to have any anatomical pursuits with you.”
“What do you mean?” said Wegg, quickly.