The Anarchist, sitting opposite at the wine-stained table, contemplated him with interest. "How," he asked presently, "do you propose to make the journey?"
"Going to marry for money, to begin with."
"No occasion, then, to trouble about the Spider any more?"
"O Lord, that beast! I'd forgotten all about him. I'm an ungrateful brute, de Konski. I'm awfully obliged to you, though, all the same. Shylock sticks out for his pound of flesh, of course?"
"Well, hardly that. After all, even he's human, Paul."
"Oh, I say, though, you don't mean to say—you can't mean to say—you've squared the beast!" he cried, springing up and making the glasses dance on the table.
"Well, yes, I've squared him—in a way."
"What way? Half my pay as interest? Seventy per cent. at the final square up six months hence?"
"No; but on conditions——"
"Conditions? Mosson making conditions?"