Rigoletto eyed him. The villain had spoken almost as if he knew the dwarf's fear.
"I believe you," he muttered, looking steadily at the cut-throat. "You look it, every inch. What do you charge to kill a noble?"
"More than I charge for a churl, by double."
"And how do you want your money?"
"Half before I do the deed, and the other half when he is dead."
"You're a demon," Rigoletto murmured; and certainly he himself was bad enough to be able to judge of a rogue when he saw one. "Aren't you afraid of being discovered?"
"No, when it is dangerous to kill in the city, I do it in my own house. There in the gloom of night, far away from help, it is easy enough. No one ever finds it out."
"You are the wickedest man I know—not excepting myself," said Rigoletto, contemplating the wretch with curiosity. "Tell me how you lure people to your home?"
"Easy enough. I have a handsome sister there. Nobody ever thinks of resisting her. She gets them to come; I do the rest."
"I follow you."