“The division of the spoil.”
Twiddel looked dignified.
“I’ll see you get your share, old man,” he answered, easily.
“But what share?”
“You suggested £100, I think.”
“Out of £500—when I’ve done all the deceiving and told all the lies! Come, old man!”
“Well, what do you want?”
“Do you remember a certain crisis when we’d made a slip——”
“You’d made a slip!”
“We had made a slip, and you wanted to chuck the game and bolt? Do you remember also the terms I proposed when I offered to beard the local god almighty in his lair and explain it all away, and how he became our bosom pal and we were saved?”