Captain Francis Newcombe's lips were a straight line under the bandages.
"I'm afraid I don't get the point," he said coldly.
"The point!" Paul Cremarre's face was flushed now, his eyes burned with excitement. "But, sacre nom, the point is—a half million dollars in cash. And so easy! It is ours for the taking. The man is—ha, ha!—yes, I learned something in the war from the Americans—he is what they call a nut!" He tapped his forehead. "And from the nut we extract the kernel! Yes?"
"I think not!" said Captain Francis Newcombe evenly.
"Heh?" The Frenchman stared incredulously. "But it must be that you joke—a little joke of exquisite irony. Yes, of course; for what could be better—or suit us better? We were about to lay low for a while because it was becoming too hot for us on this side of the water—and, presto, like a gift of the gods, there immediately awaits us fortune on the other side!"
Captain Francis Newcombe suddenly thrust out a clenched hand toward the other.
"No!" he said in a low voice.
"Bon Dieu!" gasped the Frenchman helplessly. "But I do not understand."
"Then I'll try to make it plain," said Captain Francis Newcombe in level tones. "There are limits to what even I will do, and it is well over that limit here. To go there as a guest of—"
"Monsieur was a guest, I understand, of the Earl of Cloverley a few days ago," interrupted the Frenchman quickly.