“Aye, a fortune—at least, fifty pistoles. That is a fortune to some of us.”
Arsenio whistled. “Tell me more,” said he.
Garnache rose with the air of one about to depart.
“I must think of it,” said he, and he made shift to go. But the other’s hand fell with a clenching grip upon his arm.
“Of what must you think, fool?” said he. “Tell me this service you have been offered. I have a conscience that upbraids me. If you refuse these fifty pistoles, why should not I profit by your folly?”
“There would not be the need. Two men are required for the thing I speak of, and there are fifty pistoles for each. If I decide to undertake the task, I’ll speak of you as a likely second.”
He nodded gloomily to his companion, and shaking off his hold he set out to cross the yard. But Arsenio was after him and had fastened again upon his arm, detaining him.
“You fool!” said he; “you’d not refuse this fortune?”
“It would mean treachery,” whispered Garnache.
“That is bad,” the other agreed, and his face fell. But remembering what Garnache had said, he was quick to brighten again. “Is it to these folk here at Condillac?” he asked. Garnache nodded. “And they would pay—these people that seek our service would pay you fifty pistoles?”