Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 99

"Of course, Barthes, but there is no need to go far into that matter; the terms are simple enough."

"You are allowed forty-five francs for each burial, that is, for cost of the sh.e.l.l and sheet,"

"No, forty only."

"Well, forty; and if I sign the register in my quality of head gravedigger, you can go and get your money at once. Besides, you will have my sacks."

"You drive a bargain like a Jew. Keep your sacks."

"And drop the bodies out into the water?"

"Of course."

"Impossible."

"Why?"

"They would float."

"No matter, the sharks below would soon take care of the few that floated."

"Are we agreed," cried Fleon, "for halves?"

The other made some grumbling rejoinder, but grumbling he closed with the proposition.

"Very good, very good," said Fleon, rubbing his hands. "Now let us cast them up."

"One, two, four, six, eight, eleven, thirteen," said Barthes.

Now they were standing so close to the pile of sacks that the boys in their novel place of concealment could not only hear every word, but they actually felt the speakers brushing against them.

But they dared not speak.

They even held their breath.

They heard, and partly understood, yet could not believe that they guessed aright.

What could it mean?

Surely not--

No, no, no!

The thought maddened the boys.

It was too horrible.

Yet what did the rest of the sacks contain?

Besides, there were no other sacks in the shed but these.

Both the boys heard the conversation.

Yet so fearful a notion was it that each felt that he had not heard aright.

They dared not speak.

And their worst fears were indeed correct.

"Hullo!"

"What now?"

"Thirteen."

"Yes."

"You are wrong," said Fleon; "count them again."

The man obeyed.

"Thirteen; I was sure of it."

"Well, that's a rum go," said Fleon. "I am positive that there were only twelve."

"There's a baker's dozen now," said Barthes, with his brutal laugh; "the more the merrier."

"Right."

"What are you staring at?"

"I can't make out that thirteenth one."

"Well, I don't see that that's any thing to weep over. Thirteen at dinner is an awkward number, they say; but I dare say that the sharks won't object to it; they're nor so weak-minded as to be superst.i.tious.

Ha, ha, ha!"

But still Fleon could not get over this last sack.

"I've got it."

"What, where the last sack came from?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, out with it, and ease your mind--not that I care much, so long as we land the money."

"Why, they have brought the last one in from the hospital fever-ward; I heard the bell tolling at midnight, and I remember now that they said another was all but gone."