Part 16 (1/2)
”Well, I tell you candidly I don't half like it,” he remarked apprehensively.
”Content yourself; neither of us are such imbeciles as to run any risks.
Have you not already a.s.sisted us and shared our profits?”
Holt bit his lip. It was an allusion to unpleasant reminiscences.
”That is so,” he admitted, twirling the small gold cross suspended from his watch-chain. ”And what is the extent of my remuneration this time?”
”One hundred pounds.”
”The job is worth double.”
”You'll not have a sou more, so think yourself lucky to get what I offer.”
”If I refuse?”
”You dare not,” interrupted Victor in a changed tone. ”Think of what your future would be if Valerie uttered one word.”
”Yes--yes,” Holt replied, with a fierce frown. ”I know I've linked myself with you. I'm your cat's-paw, however detestable your shady transactions are.”
”You always receive money for your services.”
”Yes,” he muttered between his teeth. ”Gold with a curse upon it.”
Berard shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly and said--
”I suppose we shall each owe an ornamental wax taper to St. Jean le Baptiste for to-night's manoeuvre.” Turning away he went to a drawer, from which he took a card-case and some letters, placing them in his pocket.
”Now, Sky Pilot,” he continued resolutely, as he walked up to where Holt stood, ”are you ready?” The curate held his breath.
”Very well,” he replied, after a brief pause, ”I suppose I must do the bidding of my masters.”
”It would be best--that is, if you respect your position as a holy man,”
the Frenchman replied, with a mocking laugh.
”Come, gentlemen,” he exclaimed aloud, turning to the pair seated at the table. ”It's time we started, or we shall not keep our appointment.”
”There is no immediate hurry, is there?” asked Chavoix in a husky voice.
”Yes,” Berard replied, ”we must be at West Brompton at eight.”
”In that case I'm ready,” said he, rising, at the same time casting a longing look at the unfinished bottle of cognac before him. With unsteady gait he stumbled across the room, and, with the a.s.sistance of Pierre, arrayed himself in his overcoat and hat--not, however, without some difficulty and much good-humoured banter.
The other men sought their outdoor garments, and descended the stairs together, Berard remaining behind a moment to blow out the lamp and lock the door.
A few minutes later they were strolling across Soho Square, which, at that hour, was dismal and deserted. A four-wheeled cab stood on the opposite side of the square, and they hailed it. When they had entered the conveyance, Holt gave the coachman orders to drive to the underground station at Charing Cross with all possible speed.
While pa.s.sing along the more unfrequented thoroughfares the interior of the vehicle was dark, and of this Pierre and Victor took advantage. As for Chavoix, he had arrived at the drowsy state of intoxication, and quickly sank into a corner, where the rocking of the rickety old vehicle soon lulled him into a heavy slumber.
Pierre, who was seated at his side, turned and grasped his hand. First satisfying himself of the man's unconsciousness, he slowly, and with deliberate caution, unb.u.t.toned his overcoat. As he accomplished this without rousing him, Berard withdrew from his pocket a card-case, a folded paper, and several other articles.