“For five hundred francs?” I queried blandly.

“It is a fair sum,” he argued.

“Make it a thousand,” I rejoined firmly, “and you shall have the bracelet within fourteen days.”

He paused a moment in order to reflect; his steel-grey eyes, cool and disdainful, were fixed searchingly on my face.  I pride myself on the way that I bear that kind of scrutiny, so even now I looked bland and withal purposeful and capable.

“Very well,” he said, after a few moments, and he rose from his chair as he spoke; “it shall be a thousand francs, M.—­er—­er—­Ratichon, and I will hand over the money to you in exchange for the bracelet—­but it must be done within fourteen days, remember.”

I tried to induce him to give me a small sum on account.  I was about to take terrible risks, remember; housebreaking, larceny, theft—­call it what you will, it meant the police correctionelle and a couple of years in New Orleans for sure.  He finally gave me fifty francs, and once more threatened to take his business elsewhere, so I had to accept and to look as urbane and dignified as I could.

He was out of the office and about to descend the stairs when a thought struck me.

“Where and how can I communicate with M. Jean Duval,” I asked, “when my work is done?”

“I will call here,” he replied, “at ten o’clock of every morning that follows a performance of Le Reve.  We can complete our transaction then across your office desk.”

The next moment he was gone.  Theodore passed him on the stairs and asked me, with one of his impertinent leers, whether we had a new client and what we might expect from him.  I shrugged my shoulders.  “A new client!” I said disdainfully.  “Bah!  Vague promises of a couple of louis for finding out if Madame his wife sees more of a certain captain of the guards than Monsieur the husband cares about.”

Theodore sniffed.  He always sniffs when financial matters are on the tapis.

“Anything on account?” he queried.

“A paltry ten francs,” I replied, “and I may as well give you your share of it now.”

I tossed a franc to him across the desk.  By the terms of my contract with him, you understand, he was entitled to ten per cent, of every profit accruing from the business in lieu of wages, but in this instance do you not think that I was justified in looking on one franc now, and perhaps twenty when the transaction was completed, as a more than just honorarium for his share in it?  Was I not taking all the risks in this delicate business?  Would it be fair for me to give him a hundred francs for sitting quietly in the office or sipping absinthe at a neighbouring bar whilst I risked New Orleans—­not to speak of the gallows?

He gave me a strange look as he picked up the silver franc, spat on it for luck, bit it with his great yellow teeth to ascertain if it were counterfeit or genuine, and finally slipped it into his pocket, and shuffled out of the office whistling through his teeth.