Lupin rose and walked backwards and forwards across the room, frowning, calculating, glancing keenly at Guerchard, weighing him. Twice he looked at the clock.
He stopped and said coldly: “So be it. For the moment you’re the stronger.... That won’t last.... But you offer me this child’s liberty.”
“That’s my offer,” said Guerchard; and his eyes brightened at the prospect of success.
“Her complete liberty? ... on your word of honour?” said Lupin; and he had something of the air of a cat playing with a mouse.
“On my word of honour,” said Guerchard.
“Can you do it?” said Lupin, with a sudden air of doubt; and he looked sharply from Guerchard to the clock.
“I undertake to do it,” said Guerchard confidently.
“But how?” said Lupin, looking at him with an expression of the gravest doubt.
“Oh, I’ll put the thefts on your shoulders. That will let her out all right,” said Guerchard.
“I’ve certainly good broad shoulders,” said Lupin, with a bitter smile. He walked slowly up and down with an air that grew more and more depressed: it was almost the air of a beaten man. Then he stopped and faced Guerchard, and said: “And what is it you want in exchange?”