‘Well,’ said the falsetto voice, ‘why don’t you’—the hoarse basso carried on the phrase—‘send somebody else?’
‘Who am I to send? asked the man in view. ‘I’d give five bob,’ he added, ‘to get him here.’
‘Tell me where he is,’ said Paul, ‘and I’ll get him for half the money, if I have to carry him.’
The man to whom he spoke turned round and stared at him.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘A hungry vagabond,’ said Paul, ‘willing to earn a meal.’
‘Do you know the town?’
‘No; I’m a stranger.’
‘That,’ said the fat man, pointing, ‘leads to the gate. Turn to the right, run three hundred yards, and there’s a pub on the left. You can’t mistake it. Tell Herr Pauer he’s waited for. Sixpence if you’re smart.’
‘Shilling!’ said Paul, half on the run already. The fat man hung fire. ‘Shilling!’ said Paul again.