"He intended going from Broad Street to Euston, thence to Liverpool, in time for the boat to-morrow."
"He will have to go."
"What, in heaven's name, do you mean?"
"Heaven," said the surgeon grimly, "I am afraid, has little to do with this job. But, see here, Charley, there's time yet. We can be poor and honest, and give up this fortune, or a few hours' nasty work, and wealth--nineteen thousand pounds."
He picked up the notes again, and the rustle made both men's eyes sparkle.
A piano organ in the distance was jigging out a "Belle of New York" tune, but no sound of it was heard by the brothers. Their ears were full of that crisp, crackling sound.
"But how do you mean that he will have to go?"
"One of us in his name, to America."
"Surely there is no need for that."
"For two reasons. He--this--has to be disposed of."