The curate thrust his hands into his pockets, and gazed upon the floor a few moments.
“Well, I tell you candidly I don’t half like it,” he remarked apprehensively.
“Content yourself; neither of us are such imbeciles as to run any risks. Have you not already assisted us and shared our profits?”
Holt bit his lip. It was an allusion to unpleasant reminiscences.
“That is so,” he admitted, twirling the small gold cross suspended from his watch-chain. “And what is the extent of my remuneration this time?”
“One hundred pounds.”
“The job is worth double.”
“You’ll not have a sou more, so think yourself lucky to get what I offer.”
“If I refuse?”
“You dare not,” interrupted Victor in a changed tone. “Think of what your future would be if Valérie uttered one word.”