A most unpleasant light broke upon Jane. It was the voice of the Anarchist Uncle. It was the voice of Mr. Molloy.
Jane got as far back into her hollow as she could. It was not very far. There had evidently been a tunnel here, but the roof had fallen in, and the floor was rough and uneven with the débris.
She heard the two men moving in the room beyond, and she experienced a most sincere repentance for not having attended to the counsels of Henry.
“And now we can talk,” said Ember. “You’ve got the cash?”
“Not with me,” said Mr. Molloy.
“Why not?”
“Oh, just in case....”—a not unmelodious whistle completed the sentence.
“They paid the higher figure?”
“They did,” said Mr. Molloy. “Belcovitch was for taking their second bid, but I told him ‘No.’ Belcovitch has his points, but he’s not the bold bargainer. I told him ‘No.’ I told him ‘It’s this way—if they want it they’ll pay our price.’ And pay it they did. I don’t know that I ever handled that much money before, and all for a sheet or two of paper. Well, well——”
“You should have brought the money with you. Why didn’t you?”