But it was only a stale old recourse that he had. In a man's extremity
he turns by instinct to his own tin gods for help, and you may read his
whole heart and religion then.
"Very well; very well," he said, as if he were on the rack, speaking
hurriedly to get it over with. "I make the sacrifice. You will find my
money in an inner vest pocket underneath my vest. It is a life's
savings. Take it, and let me go. It is not much--only a little--I am
not a rich man--I had hoped to be, but it would mean a fortune to you no
doubt. Take it and be merciful; give me back the smaller packet of the
two, keep the larger, and let me go."
Out of curiosity I reached inside his vest and pulled out both packets.
Jeremy struck a match. The smaller packet contained a draft on Paris
for a quarter of a million francs. The larger held nothing but
correspondence. I returned them to him.
"Listen!" I said. "I've never yet murdered a man, so if you provide me
with another excuse for murdering you, you'll be a virgin victim. Keep
that in mind!"
CHAPTER XV
"Catch the Alfies napping and kick hell out of 'em!"
You're no doubt familiar with the fact that the accounts given by two
men who have witnessed a battle from the same angle will differ widely,
not only in minor detail but in fundamentals; so you won't look to me
for confirmation of any one of the countless stories that have seen the
light of print, pretending to explain how the French won Damascus so
easily and unexpectedly.
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