Not for long was he permitted to muse upon the image of a being the thought of whom appeared to transform a passionless man into an ardent lover; a harsher interruption than sweet perfume floating on a breeze recalled him to his sterner self.
"Stop!"
"For what reason?"
"The best. Money!"
The summons proceeded from one in whom, as his voice betrayed, the worst passions were dominant.
CHAPTER III
[IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT]
There lived not in the world a man more fearless than the Advocate. At this threatening demand, which meant violence, perhaps murder, he exhibited as little trepidation as he would have done at an acquaintance asking him, in broad daylight, for a pinch of snuff. Indeed, he was so perfectly unembarrassed that his voice assumed a lightness foreign to its usual serious tones. "Money, my friend! How much?"
"All you've got."
"Terse, and to the point. If I refuse?"