Melun nodded. “A meeting,” he said, “but not an oath. That I already have administered in part. The new chum is silent.”
“It is most irregular,” grumbled the man with the bullet-head.
“Never you mind,” said Melun in a hectoring voice, “it is my affair, and not yours.”
“It is our business that you bring him here,” mumbled several of the men.
“Don't you bother about things which do not concern you,” rapped out Melun, “until I have had my say. I have said this is to be a meeting, and I am waiting to give my explanation.”
At this several men turned and dragged forward a long trestle table, while others quickly set chairs about it; Melun seated himself at its head, beckoning to Westerham to seat himself at his right hand.
Still smiling, Westerham looked with his oddly disconcerting gaze along the row of faces before him. Melun, he reflected, must have searched London to have found such an exhibition of evil passions.
The men did not look at him; they looked at Melun, warily and anxiously.
“In times past,” said Melun, shortly, “you have found it just as well to trust to me. The shares of any spoils we have won have always been fairly adjusted.”
For the most part the men nodded assent.