“And then,” said Raymond, “we will get Mentone out through the window of his room. There is a train that passes St. Eustace at ten minutes after midnight—and that is all. The St. Eustace station, I understand, is like the one here—far from the village, and with no houses about. He can hide near the station until traintime; and, without having shown yourself, you can drive back home and go to bed. It is your wife only that you have to think of—she will say nothing, eh?”
“Baptême!” snorted Bourget contemptuously. “She has learned before now when to keep her tongue where it belongs! And you? You are coming, too?”
“Do you think I am a fool, Bourget?” inquired Raymond shortly. “When they find Mentone is gone, they will know he must have had an accomplice, for he could not get far alone. They will be looking for two of us travelling together. I will go the other way. That makes it safe for Mentone—and safe for me. I can walk to Tournayville easily before daylight; and in that way we shall both give the police the slip.”
“Diable!” grunted Bourget admiringly. “You have a head!”
“It is good enough to take care of us all in a little job like to-night's,” returned Raymond, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Well, do you understand everything? For if you do, there's no use wasting any time.”
“Yes—I have it all!” Bourget's voice grew vicious again. “That sacré maudit curé! Yes, I understand.”
Raymond thrust the banknotes he had been holding into Bourget's hand.
“Here are fifty dollars to bind the bargain,” he said crisply. “You get the other fifty at the church. If you don't get them, all you've got to do is drive off and leave Mentone in the lurch. That's fair, isn't it?”
Bourget shuffled back to the edge of the lighted window, counted the money, and shoved it into his pocket.
“Bon Dieu!” Bourget's puffed lip twisted into a satisfied grin. “I do not mind telling you, my Pierre Desforges, that it is long since I have seen so much.”