“That will be paid when your work is completed, when I have positive proof that it is done.”
“What assurance have I of that?”
“My word of honor,” said Sir Edward, with a steadily deepening frown. “That ought to be sufficient under such circumstances.”
“Could there be more desperate circumstances?” Pimlico calmly inquired. “Bear in mind that you are a stranger to me, that I have taken the word of another for what I already have done, and to the effect that you are a responsible person and will make good. That is hardly enough, however, in view of the nature of the work and the risks involved. Before the final step is taken, ending the whole business, I must see the color of your money.”
Sir Edward shifted uneasily in his chair and eyed his visitor more darkly. Pimlico’s voice had a firmness that did not please him. He feared that he might find it impossible to move him, to prevail upon him to take that final step so essential to his knavish treachery. He feared that his designs might miscarry at this last moment. It was these fears that impelled him to go further than he otherwise would have gone—to the extent of confiding in his hireling.
He drew himself up, as if he suddenly came to that determination, saying with much less asperity:
“You mean, then, that you insist upon being paid in advance, Mr. Pimlico.”
“That is what I mean,” bowed Pimlico, deliberately stroking his gray beard.
“But I cannot comply with that demand.”
“Cannot, sir, or will not?” Pimlico pointedly questioned.