"For you, no?" the other asked incredulously; "but——"
"But Paris, man," Alphonse gurgled.
"Paris! of course, of course!" Heinrich laughed, though there was little merriment in his tone. "Of course, later on, with our comrades as they advance over the Marne. In the meanwhile you are the man to guide me back to them."
The big, sprawling, bony figure of the man beside him was jerked upward and that pugnacious chin shot towards Heinrich Hilker, while the deep-set eyes gleamed—gleamed dangerously.
"What, leave Paris! the loot!" the man gasped, as if the news astounded him. "Direct you over the Marne to our comrades! Get behind the advanced lines of our troops, and so reach Paris after they have entered! What, lose that splendid opportunity! Man—!" and Alphonse brought a huge, bony hand down on Heinrich's shoulder, making the spy wince. "Man, it's a moment I have lived for—dreamed of night and day—this pillage of Paris. Why, I have been there a hundred times and have marked out the way of entry, the path I would take first of all, the spot for which I would make, the spot where—— Listen, listen, man!" he whispered in his rusty voice; "the place where all the gold and the jewels are concentrated. It will be a haul. A bomb to burst in the door, no poilus to intervene, none of these infernal soldiers to shoot at you, no fear of watchers—a plain straightforward action, careless of who looks on. A bomb I say—the door burst in—then a dive in amongst the riches—jewels, man, sparkling jewels—pockets filled in five minutes—afterwards, wealth—wealth of a Crœsus!"
Heinrich was peering round at his companion now—peering in a cunning, half-frightened way, his eyes now and again turning to those sunken orbs which stared into the farthest hole beneath the shattered tiles of the church tower. He could feel the hand on his shoulder trembling; the bony fingers closed and gripped him with such force that he could have called out for pain. The man beside him was a maniac, he told himself—a maniac to be got rid of at the first opportunity, but a man to be handled carefully, to be cajoled, to be humoured until he had carried out the work required of him, and "after that a shot will finish the brute", Heinrich whispered, "a shot in the back. Once we are across the Marne, and with our people, Alphonse shall go to a place where he can dream on for ever. Only—ah, yes!"
THE MAN BESIDE HIM WAS A MANIAC, HE TOLD HIMSELF
Heinrich Hilker's eyes sought the depths of that dark corner just as Alphonse's had done. For a moment or so he became thoughtful, moody, while the expression of his face denoted cunning, slyness—the cunning of a man who has suddenly thought of something worth noting.