d from the side of the nose to bottom of the
chin--a silent smile. By a side-glance Ricardo had noted this play of
features. He smiled, too, appreciative, encouraged.

"And you as hard as nails all the time," he went on. "Hang me if anybody
would believe you aren't sick, if I were to swear myself black in
the face! Give us a day or two to look into matters and size up that
'yporcrit."

Ricardo's eyes remained fixed on his crossed shins. The chief, in his
lifeless accents, approved.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea."

"The Chink, he's nothing. He can be made quiet any time."

One of Ricardo's hands, reposing palm upwards on his folded legs, made
a swift thrusting gesture, repeated by the enormous darting shadow of an
arm very low on the wall. It broke the spell of perfect stillness in
the room. The secretary eyed moodily the wall from which the shadow had
gone. Anybody could be made quiet, he pointed out. It was not anything
that the Chink could do; no, it was the effect that his company must
have produced on the conduct of the doomed man. A man! What was a man? A
Swedish baron could be ripped up, or else holed by a shot, as easily as
any other creature; but that was exactly what was to be avoided, till
one knew where he had hidden his plunder.

"I shouldn't think it would be some sort of hole in his bungalow,"
argued Ricardo with real anxiety.

No. A house can be burnt--set on fire accidentally, or on purpose, while
a man's asleep. Under the house--or in some crack, cranny, or crevice?
Something told him it wasn't that. The anguish of mental effort
contracted Ricardo's brow. The skin of his head seemed to move in this
travail of vain and tormenting suppositions.

"What did you think a fellow is, sir--a baby?" he said, in answer to Mr.
Jones's objections. "I am trying to find out what I would do myself. He
wouldn't be likely to be cleverer than I am."

"And what do you know about yourself?"

Mr Jones seemed to watch his follower's perplexities with amusement
concealed in a death-like composure.

Ricardo disregarded the question. The material vision of the spoil
absorbed all his faculties. A great vision! He seemed to see it. A few
small canvas bags tied up with thin cord, their distended rotundity
showing the inside pressure of the disk-like forms of coins--gold,
solid, heavy, eminently portable. Perhaps steel cash-boxes with a chased
design, on the covers; or perhaps a black and brass box with a handle
on