“Do you understand?” fiercely.
“Yes, yes!” Stuler wiped his face with his apron.
“Good, if you understand. It was naught but a slip of the tongue,” nonchalantly. “In a little week, my friend, your till will have no vulgar silver in it; gold, yellow gold.”
“And the duchess?” with hesitance. The budget of news to-night was not of the usual kind.
Johann did not answer, save by a shrug.
The perturbation of the old man was so manifestly beyond control that he could not trust his legs. He dropped on the stool, giving his grizzled head a negative shake. “I would that you had made no slip of the tongue, Johann,” he murmured. “Gott, what is going on? The princess was not to wed, to be sure, but the duchess passed—a king besides—”
“Silence!” enjoined Johann. “Stuler, I am about to venture on a daring enterprise, which, if successful, will mean plenty of gold. Come with me into your private office, where we shall not be interrupted nor overheard.” He vaulted the bar. Stuler looked undecided. “Come!” commanded Johann. With another shake of his head Stuler took down the tallow dip, unlocked the door, and bade Johann pass in. He caught up another bottle and glass and followed. Without a word he filled the glass and set it down before Johann, who raised it and drank, his beady eyes flashing over the rim of the glass and compelling the innkeeper to withdraw his gaze.
“Well?” said Stuler, uneasily.
“I need you.” Johann finished his glass with moderate slowness. “Your storehouse on the lake is empty?”
“Yes, but—”