"And yours would be thin had ye not your guineas to line it with. Hang me, Berkeley, a word from me——"
"Come, come," said the squire quickly, "'tis not for old friends to fall out. You were talking of your scheme."
"I was saying that all I need is a small sum in advance—the rest may wait till the thing is done."
"And what is your scheme? You do not expect me—no offence, Aglionby—to buy a pig in a poke this time."
"'Twere better, maybe——" Aglionby was beginning, but just then a footstep was heard on the stairs. He evidently recognized it. Hesitating for a second he lowered his voice and continued hurriedly: "'Tis one of the men engaged in the job. I will call on you later at your inn. 'Twould be amiss were he to know you had any concern in it."
Berkeley looked suspiciously at the captain, but, unable to fathom his embarrassment, he picked up his hat and slowly moved towards the door. It opened in his face, and Polignac appeared. He stepped back courteously to allow the older man to pass. They bowed to each other, with a mutual glance of keen scrutiny. The squire bade Aglionby good-day, refusing his attendance; and as he passed down the stairs Polignac entered the room.
"Who is your visitor, captain?" he asked. "An English milord, by his appearance."
"Yes; a friend from England—an old friend of my family: a neighbour: in fact, our estates join—or all but, for 'tis but a narrow trout-stream divides 'em."
Aglionby's manner was still a little flurried. His mind was not very quick, and took time to adjust itself. Polignac threw his hat upon the table, sat astride of a chair, and went on with admirable gravity:
"And the fishing—it is often, without doubt, what we Frenchmen call an apple of discord. I have known so many disputes."