"Yes."
If Pagan had a retort adequate to the insolence of that monosyllable, Morphew forbade it.
"Here! that's enough. You've been a hell of a long time; what kept you?"
"You shouldn't risk leaving our good friend alone so long," Lanyard cut in. "He's too trustful, people take advantage of his confidence in human nature and over-reach him. Regard that even I have been able to wheedle a pistol out of him while you were playing chuckfarthing on the tombstones—or whatever the mischief was you've been up to."
"Is that right?" Consternation jarred the toady out of his mean rôle for an instant. "What the devil—"
"Calm yourself, my good Pagan. If your terrors were not baseless, I would be making good use of the weapon this instant—if I had waited so long—instead of sitting here and playing the deuce with your nerves."
"Cut it out, can't you?" Morphew muttered. "This is no time to be squabbling like a couple of kids. You need every minute you've got to run over your plans—"
"Quite unnecessary, monsieur; my mind is already made up."
"All the same, it's better we should leave you to think things over—"
"I shall miss you like fun."