u're afraid of."

"I'll forgive you this time," I rattled on, "just because you've had
such an exciting experience, but don't ever hint anything like that
again. I don't know what fear's like."

"Self-praise," said Bryce, "is sometimes the highest form of
recommendation. At any rate it shows you've overcome fear, if only the
fear of criticism. But to be serious, Carstairs, there's trouble ahead
of both of us. My pursuers are getting very game, tackling me in front
of a third person, and I've got a funny sort of feeling that they'll
catch me napping one of these days. No matter what you say or do, you
can't alter the fact that you've identified yourself with me, and that
means that you're running just the same amount of danger that I am. You
don't look too prosperous yourself. What about joining forces with me
and sharing the plunder? Of course I can make it worth your while."

"Plunder," I said. "What do you mean! Are you running up against the
law?"

"If it's any relief to you to know it, I'm not. I rather fancy I've got
the law on my side."

"I was merely enquiring what inducements you had to offer. What do you
call 'making it worth my while?'"

When I turned down his first tentative offer I had quite made up my mind
that he wanted to engage me as a sort of super-butler with sudden death
included amongst the risks of service, and I had no intention of mixing
up in other people's quarrels on such terms. When I questioned him
directly about it I got a pleasant surprise.

"Well, my idea of making it worth your while is something like L100 for
three months. That's about as long as I'll require you. After that you
can 'go to hell or to Connaught,' whichever you prefer."

"That's nice hearing," I told him. "And, I suppose, any time I take an
extra risk I get something _pour boire_?"

He nodded cheerfully.

"That's my offer, Carstairs," he said. "What do you say to it?"

"It's so damned alluring," I answered, "that I'm frightened to look at
it too close. I don't mind admitting that I'm about as hard up as I can
be. As a matter of fact I've not the least idea where I'm going to get
my next meal. All of which makes your offer doubly inviting. But I don't
want to jump at it in hot blood. I want time to think it over. I want to
stand off and wave my hat at it and say, 'Scat, you brute!' and see if
it'll shoo off. I'm frightened that it's not real, and that I'll take it
on and then wake up. Will you give me time to w