As this idea grew upon him, the devotional droop faded from the corners of his lips, and his mouth drew to a hard, straight line, scarcely to be distinguished amongst the curving bristles of hair which surrounded it. But he made no interruption, and drank in every word till the speaker had delivered the whole of his say. Then he uttered his decision.
“So, gentlemen, you are standing in as partners over this precious business? And because you know me to be a poor broke man, with a wife and family, you naturally think you can buy me to work for you off the straight. Well, perhaps that’s possible, but there are two ways of doing it, and of the two I like Mr. Onslow’s best. When a man’s a blackguard, it don’t make him swallow any the sweeter for setting up to be a little tin saint. And I don’t mind who I say that to.”
“My good man,” snarled Shelf, “do you mean to threaten me?”
“No, I don’t. I just gave you my own opinion, as from man to man, just because I respect myself. But I’m not going round to your place of worship to shout it out to them that sit under you. They wouldn’t believe me if I did. Not now at any rate. Besides, it wouldn’t do me any good, and I couldn’t afford it. I’m a needy man, Mr. Shelf, as you have guessed; and that’s why I’m going to accept your offer. But don’t let us have any misunderstanding between ourselves as to what it foots up to. What I’m going to sign on for directly, when you hand me the papers, is a spell of piracy on the high seas, neither more nor less. And I’m going to have my money all paid down in advance before I ring an engine-bell on your blasted tramp of a steamer. I guess that’s fair enough. My family’ll want something to go on with if I’m caught, because if one’s found out at this game it’s just a common ordinary hanging matter. Yes, sir, swing by the neck till I’m dead as an ax, and may Heaven have mercy on your miserable tag of a soul! That’s what this tea-party means, and for your dirty £500 you’re buying a live human man.”
CHAPTER VII.
£500,000—IN GOLD.
The little red-bearded man had gone, slamming the door noisily behind him. Shelf mopped his large white face with a scented pocket-handkerchief.
“Do you think,” he said nervously—“do you think we may trust him?”
“To begin with, we’ve got to now, whether we like it or not. He’s nothing to gain by playing traitor.”
“But would he betray us in case of success?”