u can
trust me."

"Yes; but I ask myself what YOU are trusting to."

"Our luck," said the faithful Ricardo. "Don't say a word against that.
It might spoil the run of it."

"You are a superstitious beggar. No, I won't say anything against it."

"That's right, sir. Don't you even think lightly of it. Luck's not to be
played with."

"Yes, luck's a delicate thing," assented Mr. Jones in a dreamy whisper.

A short silence ensued, which Ricardo ended in a discreet and tentative
voice.

"Talking of luck, I suppose he could be made to take a hand with
you, sir--two-handed picket or ekkarty, you being seedy and keeping
indoors--just to pass the time. For all we know, he may be one of them
hot ones once they start--"

"Is it likely?" came coldly from the principal. "Considering what we
know of his history--say with his partner."

"True, sir. He's a cold-blooded beast; a cold-blooded, inhuman--"

"And I'll tell you another thing that isn't likely. He would not be
likely to let himself be stripped bare. We haven't to do with a young
fool that can be led on by chaff or flattery, and in the end simply
overawed. This is a calculating man."

Ricardo recognized that clearly. What he had in his mind was something
on a small scale, just to keep the enemy busy while he, Ricardo, had
time to nose around a bit.

"You could even lose a little money to him, sir," he suggested.

"I could."

Ricardo was thoughtful for a moment.

"He strikes me, too, as the sort of man to start prancing when one
didn't expect it. What do you think, sir? Is he a man that would prance?
That is, if something startled him. More likely to prance than to
run--what?"

The answer came at once, because Mr. Jones understood the peculiar idiom
of his faithful follower.

"Oh, without doubt! Without doubt!"

"It does me good to hear that you think so. He's a prancing beast,
and so we mustn't startle him--not till I have located the stuff.
Afterwards--"

Ricardo paused, sinister in the stillness of his pose. Suddenly he
got up with a swift movement and gazed down at his chief in moody
abstraction. Mr. Jones did not stir.

"There's one thing that's worrying me," began Ricardo in a subdued
voice.

"Only one?" was the faint comment from the motionless body on the
bedstead.

"I mean more than all the others put together."

"That's grave news."

"Ay, grave enough. It's this--how do you feel in yourself, sir? Are you
likely to get bored? I know the