"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 a.s.sisted 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 Valerie uttered one word."

"Yes--yes," Holt replied, with a fierce frown. "I know I've linked myself with you. I'm your cat's-paw, however detestable your shady transactions are."

"You always receive money for your services."

"Yes," he muttered between his teeth. "Gold with a curse upon it."

Berard shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly and said--

"I suppose we shall each owe an ornamental wax taper to St. Jean le Baptiste for to-night's manoeuvre." Turning away he went to a drawer, from which he took a card-case and some letters, placing them in his pocket.

"Now, Sky Pilot," he continued resolutely, as he walked up to where Holt stood, "are you ready?" The curate held his breath.

"Very well," he replied, after a brief pause, "I suppose I must do the bidding of my masters."

"It would be best--that is, if you respect your position as a holy man,"

the Frenchman replied, with a mocking laugh.

"Come, gentlemen," he exclaimed aloud, turning to the pair seated at the table. "It's time we started, or we shall not keep our appointment."

"There is no immediate hurry, is there?" asked Chavoix in a husky voice.

"Yes," Berard replied, "we must be at West Brompton at eight."

"In that case I'm ready," said he, rising, at the same time casting a longing look at the unfinished bottle of cognac before him. With unsteady gait he stumbled across the room, and, with the a.s.sistance of Pierre, arrayed himself in his overcoat and hat--not, however, without some difficulty and much good-humoured banter.

The other men sought their outdoor garments, and descended the stairs together, Berard remaining behind a moment to blow out the lamp and lock the door.

A few minutes later they were strolling across Soho Square, which, at that hour, was dismal and deserted. A four-wheeled cab stood on the opposite side of the square, and they hailed it. When they had entered the conveyance, Holt gave the coachman orders to drive to the underground station at Charing Cross with all possible speed.

While pa.s.sing along the more unfrequented thoroughfares the interior of the vehicle was dark, and of this Pierre and Victor took advantage. As for Chavoix, he had arrived at the drowsy state of intoxication, and quickly sank into a corner, where the rocking of the rickety old vehicle soon lulled him into a heavy slumber.

Pierre, who was seated at his side, turned and grasped his hand. First satisfying himself of the man's unconsciousness, he slowly, and with deliberate caution, unb.u.t.toned his overcoat. As he accomplished this without rousing him, Berard withdrew from his pocket a card-case, a folded paper, and several other articles.

Not a word was uttered. With much dexterity Pierre also unb.u.t.toned the black frock-coat Chavoix wore, and, diving his hand into the breast-pocket, abstracted an old morocco letter-case, with some loose cards and about half a dozen letters. Hastily glancing at these, he transferred them to his own pocket, while, at the same time, Berard bent over and carefully subst.i.tuted them for those he had just produced.

After feeling in both pockets of the sleeping man's vest, as if to rea.s.sure himself that nothing remained, Pierre commenced to reb.u.t.ton the overcoat. While so engaged Chavoix stirred uneasily and uttered a grunt, but a moment afterwards he subsided again into the dull, heavy slumber of intoxication, thus allowing the expert pickpocket to accomplish his task.

As the cab rumbled down Villiers Street, Berard grasped him roughly by the shoulder, exclaiming in French--

"Wake up, old fellow. Come; pull yourself together."

Starting, rubbing his eyes, and with a muttered and husky, "Pardon, messieurs," he commenced a profuse apology for sleeping in their company. This, however, was suddenly interrupted by the vehicle coming to a standstill before the station.

The four men alighted, and Holt, after a brief consultation with Berard, took first-cla.s.s tickets for West Brompton.

Pierre's arm afforded Chavoix a friendly aid as they descended to the platform; for, although the latter was not sufficiently inebriated to attract attention, yet his equilibrium was slightly disarranged.

When the train drew up they entered an empty first-cla.s.s compartment, and continued their journey westward, a decidedly jovial quartette.

On leaving the next station, Westminster, Pierre remarked that he had developed a great thirst, and, curiously enough, Holt immediately produced a nickel travelling flask filled with brandy, which he held up triumphantly. Amid the laughter which followed an a.s.sertion of Chavoix's, to the effect that priests always appreciated good liquor, Pierre took the flask, and, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the top, placed the mouth to his lips.

Then he handed it to Adolphe.

"I'm so thirsty that I feel as if I could drink all that's in the flask," remarked the latter.

"You couldn't do it in your present state," argued Berard incredulously.

"It's very strong," commented Pierre. "I doubt whether you could drain it at one draught. In fact, I'm open to bet you half a sovereign that you won't."

"Bah! it's just as easy as winking," replied the intoxicated man, regarding the flask with a complacent smile. "With m'sieur's permission I'll drink his health."

"By all means," replied Holt, with a laugh. "I'm really afraid, however, that we shall be compelled to see you home afterwards."

"Never fear; I'm safe enough in your hands," he answered, with a grin.

"If there's one thing I'm more fond of than another, it's good cognac.

See!"

He lifted the flask to his lips, and drained it at one pull.

Scarcely had he done so when he uttered a loud cry of pain, clutching convulsively at his throat.

"_Diable_! it's--it's stronger than I bargained for!" he gasped, with an effort to laugh. "I feel as if everything--why, it's all going round.

_Mon dieu_! You have--"

He struggled to his feet, but reeled back upon the cushions, and in a few moments was unconscious.

By this time the train had left St. James's Park, and was travelling at a fair speed midway between that station and Victoria.

When it arrived at the latter place three men only were in the compartment, and they alighted. They did not speak, but hurried along the platform as if unknown to one another. Victor and the curate of St.

Barnabas gained the street. The former jumped into a hansom, gave the driver an address, and drove rapidly away, while the latter man walked swiftly across the station yard towards the terminus of the Brighton and South Coast Railway.