“That’s all I can give you just now.”
He put them into his pocket without a word of thanks, while she sat back in her chair whistling a few bars of a popular chansonette eccentrique.
“Pierre,” Bérard said sullenly, at the same time vigorously apostrophising the “diable,” “we’re in a difficulty, and the only way we can obtain the money is by another—er—disappearance.”
“What, again?” cried Valérie. “Why, poor Pierre is vanishing fast enough already. He’s almost a skeleton now,” and she pointed at his lean figure derisively.
“I don’t get enough to eat nowadays,” declared he, pulling a wry face.
“Do stop your chatter, Valérie,” Victor said angrily, “I’m talking business.”
“Oh, pardon, m’sieur?” and she pouted like a spoiled child.
“It’s generally a safe trick. How much would it bring in?” asked the younger man of his companion.
“Two thousand sterling.”
“Just the sum,” interrupted mademoiselle, striking the table in her enthusiasm. “We’ll divide it. When can I have my half?”