Bertrand (taking and pocketing notes). Macaire, I can’t get over it.
Macaire. My mark is the frontier, and at top speed. Don’t hang your jaw at me. Up, up, at the double; pick me that cash-box; and let’s get the damned house fairly cleared.
Bertrand. I can’t. Did he bleed much?
Macaire. Bleed? Must I bleed you? To work, or I’m dangerous.
Bertrand. It’s all right, Macaire; I’m going.
Macaire. Better so: an old friend is nearly sacred. (Full daylight: lights up. Macaire blows out lantern.)
Bertrand. Where’s the key?
Macaire. Key? I tell you to pick it.
Bertrand (with the box). But it’s a patent lock. Where is the key? You had it.
Macaire. Will you pick that lock?