Soames almost dropped the razor. His state of alarm was truly pitiable;
he glanced to the right, he glanced to the left, he glanced over his
shoulder, up at the ceiling and down at the floor.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, nervously; "I don't think I quite understand
you, sir?"
"It is quite simple," replied M. Max. "I asked you if you had some use
for a hundred pounds. Because if you have, I will meet you at any place
you like to mention and bring with me cash to that amount!"
"Hush, sir!--for God's sake, hush, sir!" whispered Soames.
A dew of perspiration was glistening upon his forehead, and it was
fortunate that he had finished shaving M. Max, for his hand was
trembling furiously. He made a pretense of hurrying with towels, bay
rum, and powder spray, but the beady eyes were ever glancing to right
and left and all about.
M. Max, who throughout this time had been reflecting, made a second
move.
"Another fifty, or possibly another hundred, could be earned as easily,"
he said, with assumed carelessness. "I may add that this will not be
offered again, and... that you will shortly be out of employment, with
worse to follow."
Soames began to exhibit signs of collapse.
"Oh, my God!" he muttered, "what shall I do? I can't promise--I can't
promise; but I might--I MIGHT look in at the 'Three Nuns' on Friday
evening about nine o'clock.
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