“Has it anything to do with Janet Moore?” asked Aunt Lucy, in her sharpest tone.
“It iss a fine secret,” said David, fixing his little eyes upon the Colonel, “ant it is vort’ a t’ousand fillibees.”
The old lady gave a snort of contempt, but the Colonel seemed interested, and as he shrewdly examined the Jew’s face he noted great beads of perspiration standing upon his shiny forehead—a warrant that David, at least, was very much in earnest in his proposition. It was not impossible David had a secret, and that he considered it a dangerous one to disclose.
“Will you swear that your secret is worth a thousand fillibees to me?” he asked.
“Sure, most Excellency—if your daughter she is vort’ so much money,” earnestly answered the Jew.
“She is worth more,” declared the Colonel. “Tell me what you know, and you shall have the price you ask.”
But David only stood still and trembled, answering not a word.
“Bessie,” said the doctor, “take your Aunt Lucy into the next room, and keep out of earshot. We must have a business conference with David.”
When the women had gone the Colonel walked over to a desk and took from a drawer a long envelope filled with English bank-notes, which he carefully counted. They amounted to six hundred pounds. To these he added a roll of gold and brought all the money to David, placing it upon the table beside him.
“There, David, are a thousand fillibees, in good English and American money. It is yours if you can tell me how to rescue my child from the palace of the khan.”