A few days later the Pimple buttonholed me.
“I want to ask something,” he said. “I go to Captain Mundey, and he tells me to ask you.”
“What is it, Moïse?”
The little man glanced furtively up and down the lane, to make sure no one was within earshot, and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper.
“Can the Spirit find a buried treasure?”
“That depends,” said I.
“On what?”
“On who buried it, and who wants it, and whether the man who buried it is still alive; or, if he is dead, on whether he can communicate, or is willing to communicate. The difficulty varies with the circumstances.”
“I see,” said the Pimple. (This was very satisfactory, for I was hanged if I myself saw!)
“You want me to find this Armenian treasure?” I went on, risking the “Armenian.”