“Ah! zen vere shall ve meet—you an’ I, eh?”
“Look ’ere, Frenchy,” came the second voice, “I don’t see what you want me for at all.”
“Ah! ah!” exclaimed the first speaker in a louder tone, “zen you air friten now! You have vot you call concoct ze plan, you leave ze ozzer to open ze door! You air coward, ees eet not so?”
“No,” came the response, “it ain’t that; but I’m getting known round here, and you ain’t. If anything happened I might be recognised, an’ that would be bad for both of us.”
“So?”
“So I reckon it ’ud be better I didn’t go right down with you to-morrow night. I’ve put you up to everything. You know the lay of the land as well as I do meself. I’ve giv you the plan of the place, I’ve giv you the impression of the key. You don’t have to make no noise with the safe. All you got to do is to open it an’ shift the stuff. It’s as easy as fallin’ off a log. I’ll be waitin’ down under the bank with the boat. We’ll bring the stuff off together and plant it in a safe place. After the row is all over we can slip away quietly down the country with the spile. It’s a dead cert. It’s the deadest cert that ever was in this world.”
“Tres bien,” replied the black-headed man, “It shall be as you say. Remembaire zat I vill not be made fool of. Non! Eet ees so?”
“Who wants to make a fool of you?” demanded the other man. “We’re halves in this job. We’re both takin’ our equal risk, an’ we stand in equal. That’s fair, ain’t it?”
“Oui; that ees so! About ze boat! Vat zen? Hav’ you made ze preparation?”
“That’s all as right as rain. You leave that to me. I struck a bit o’ luck to-day.”