“Two hundred! You said fifty would do.”
“Yes, but then I said a hundred, and now I think two will be better. Easier paid back. You can work more spiritedly with large sums than with small. You’ve got to do this, Harry Vine, so no nonsense.”
Harry was silent.
“When you have the notes, you will lock all up as before, and then if they are missing before we return them, which is not likely, who can say that you have been there? Bah! don’t be so squeamish. You’ve got to do that to-night. You have promised, and you shall. It is for your good, my lad.”
“Yes, and yours,” said Harry gloomily.
“Of course. Emancipation for us both.”
Harry was silent, and soon after they rose and strolled back to the old house, where through the open window came the strains of music, and the voices of Madelainc and Louise harmonised in a duet.
“One less at Van Heldre’s, lad. The old man will be having his evening pipe, and the doors open. Nothing could be better. Half-past nine, mind, while they are at tea. It will be quite dark then.”
Harry was silent, and the two young men entered and sat down, their coming seeming to cast a damp on the little party, for the music was put aside and work taken up, Vine being busy with some notes of his day’s observations of the actions of a newly-found mollusc.
Tea was brought in at about a quarter past nine, and Pradelle rose and went to the window.