Before the Swiss could do more than give me a warning gesture, the unknown had addressed him in the sort of Italian which forms the common speech of seamen in the Levant.
‘Is this the man you thought you could persuade to undertake the work?’
The watchmaker was fairly cornered.
‘Go inside and I will speak to you,’ he said to the swarthy outlander; then he added, speaking in quick French to me—‘I must have some explanation with you before I trust you again.’
‘That will not do for me,’ I returned, sticking to my Italian and trying to render it intelligible to the unknown. ‘You have asked me to do a dangerous work on behalf of the cause; very well, I am ready to do it, but first I insist on knowing who is going to provide the sinews of war. That is fair, it seems to me.’
This time the stranger’s tone became peremptory.
‘Why do not you wish me to speak to this man?’ he asked.
The shopkeeper scowled at both of us by turns.
‘Because I don’t know that he is right,’ he muttered.
‘How do I know that you are right?’ I retorted. ‘It appears you are going to have a big price for this business, and you want me to shut my eyes and not ask what becomes of the money.’