“She went and hid in the woodshed as I told her to,” answered the Saint shamelessly. “I told her to slip out as soon as it was dark and come along here. You’ll probably find her a little way along the road. But if you knew, why did you help me?”
“I did not see why that Amadeo should have so much money,” said Intuccio calmly. “You will be content with half?”
Simon laughed softly.
“From the very beginning,” he said, “I always meant you to have three quarters.”
Intuccio took out the money and divided it.
“Do we go back?” he asked.
“I think we shall have to make some ingenious explanations,” said the Saint. “If Lucia says it was Amadeo, he will probably be lynched. As far as I’m concerned, the probability leaves me unmoved, but since he’s still your cousin you may feel differently. If she says it was me, I’m not likely to have such a good time either. Perhaps she had better invent somebody.”
“Let us decide about that on the way,” agreed Salvatore Intuccio, and they walked on, arm in arm.