Part 11 (2/2)
The silence was broken by the elder man.
”You must admit, Pierre,” he exclaimed in French, contracting his dark bushy eyebrows slightly, ”it is no use sitting down and giving vent to empty lamentations. We must act.”
Pierre Rouillier, the young man addressed, was tall and lean, with jet black hair, a well-trimmed moustache, and a thin face, the rather melancholy expression of which did not detract from the elements of good looks which his features possessed.
”Why can't we remain here quietly in hiding for a time?” he suggested.
”If we wait, something good may turn up.”
”Remain and do nothing!” echoed Victor Berard. ”Are you an imbecile?
While we rest, the chance may slip from us.”
”There's no fear of that,” Pierre replied confidently. ”My opinion is that we can remain here for a month or two longer with much advantage to ourselves.”
”Bah!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed his companion, a short and rather stout man, about ten years his senior, whose brilliant dark eyes gleamed with anger and disgust.
”Well, speaking candidly,” continued Pierre, ”do you really think it advisable to do anything just now?”
”I see nothing to prevent it; but, of course, it would be impossible to carry out our primary intention just at present. In fact, until the business is more developed any attempt would be mere folly.”
”Exactly. That's just my reason for remaining idle.”
”The fact is, you're afraid,” exclaimed Berard, regarding him contemptuously.
”Afraid of what?”
”Of making a false move,” he replied; and then he added: ”Look here, Pierre, leave everything to me. Hitherto we have transacted our various affairs satisfactorily, and there's no reason why we should not be successful in this. It only requires tact and caution--qualities with which both of us are fortunately well endowed. When it is complete we shall leave this wretched country.”
”As for myself, I shouldn't be sorry if we were going to-morrow,”
remarked the younger man morosely. ”I'm sick of the whole business.”
”Oh, are you?” exclaimed Berard fiercely. ”What in the name of the devil is the matter with you, you impudent coward? We entered upon this affair together; our course is quite plain, and now, just when we are within an ace of success, you want to back out of it. You're mad!”
”Perhaps I am,” replied Pierre warmly. ”But you are too enthusiastic, and I have a presentiment that the whole affair will end in disaster.”
”Disaster! You talk like a woman,” Berard exclaimed. ”How is it that other delicate matters you and I have negotiated have not ended in a _contretemps_, eh?”
”_Nom d'un chien_! And what have we gained by them? Why, simply nothing. You have been clever, it's true; but in this, if we don't wait until a more favourable opportunity occurs, we shall bungle. And if we do, you know the consequences.”
”But while we are waiting we must have money from somewhere.”
”We must wait,” declared Pierre. ”We ought to out of this wretched rabbit-warren, and dress a bit more respectably. Do you think we're likely to [unreadable]. _Je n'ai pas un rond_,” he added in the argot of the criminal circles of Montmartre.
Berard shrugged his shoulders, and pulled a wry face.
”We can but try,” he observed, selecting a fresh cigarette and lighting it.
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