As he walked hither and thither, his thick hairy arms folded on his chest, his chin on his bosom, he matured the half-formed plans that had come to his mind on the first occasion on which Cavalcini had spoken to him of escape. His term of imprisonment had only three more months to run: he would gladly serve those months if he could compass the death of his enemy, throw the guilt upon another, and secure at least a substantial portion of the money Cavalcini possessed.
The whole thing was so simple that he smiled contemptuously at Cavalcini as he passed him.
That night as they were preparing for bed, Cavalcini once more offered the money to Aristides.
“Give me half,” said the giant, “and keep the other half for yourself. I will tell you my plans to-morrow.”
“But where shall I hide it?” asked Cavalcini.
“Where I hide mine—in the pocket of your robe. Nobody would think of looking there for valuables.”
And he ostentatiously put the notes Cavalcini had given him in the inside pocket of his robe.
But before an hour had gone Aristides had secretly removed them to the middle of the straw in his mattress.
Cavalcini could not sleep. His head was hot and light with anxiety. He would, he knew, have to attempt to escape with Aristides, yet the prospect of this attempt terrified him. But Aristides, it was evident, was depending upon him, and he did not dare to disappoint him.
Because of his apprehensiveness, Cavalcini’s senses became abnormally keen, and it was with a feeling of nausea that he felt the sour odour of his fellow-prisoners as they turned in their beds. He could hear a low voice in distress at the far end of the room, and he told himself that it must be the wretched boy-prisoner talking in his sleep.