Sard, hurriedly displaying a pair of clean but shaky hands, made the division.
When the three men had silently pocketed what was allotted to each,
Quintana pushed curiously at the dead man with the toe of his shoe.
"Peste!" he remarked. "I had place, for security, a ver' large diamon' in my pistol barrel. Now it is within the interior of this gentleman. …" he turned to Sanchez: "I sell him to you. One sapphire. Yes?"
Sanchez shook his head with a slight sneer: "We wait — if you want your diamond, mon capitaine."
Quintana hesitated, then made a grimace and shook his head.
"No," he said, "he had swallow. Let him digest. Allons! March!"
But after they had gone on — two hundred yards, perhaps — Sanchez stopped.
"Well?" inquired Quintana. Then, with a sneer: "I now recollec' that once you have been a butcher in Madrid. … Suit your tas'e, l'ami Sanchez."
Sard gazed at Sanchez out of sickened eyes.
"You keep away from me until you've washed yourself," he burst out, revolted. "Don't you come near me till you're clean!"