Mrs. Beedle drew back towards the cellar-kitchen steps.
"There's police outside," she shrilled. "Young Master Loristan, order him to stand back."
"No one will hurt you," said Marco. "If you have the money here, Lazarus, please give it to me."
Lazarus literally ground his teeth. But he drew himself up and saluted with ceremony. He put his hand in his breast pocket and produced an old leather wallet. There were but a few coins in it. He pointed to a gold one.
"I obey you, sir—since I must—" he said, breathing hard. "That one will pay her for the week."
Marco took out the sovereign and held it out to the woman.
"You hear what he says," he said. "At the end of this week if there is not enough to pay for the next, we will go."
Lazarus looked so like a hyena, only held back from springing by chains of steel, that the dusty Mrs. Beedle was afraid to take the money.
"If you say that I shall not lose it, I'll wait until the week's ended," she said. "You're nothing but a lad, but you're like your father. You've got a way that a body can trust. If he was here and said he hadn't the money but he'd have it in time, I'd wait if it was for a month. He'd pay it if he said he would. But he's gone; and two boys and a fellow like that one don't seem much to depend on. But I'll trust YOU."
"Be good enough to take it," said Marco. And he put the coin in her hand and turned into the back sitting-room as if he did not see her.