"The Citizen is not lost, and he is perfectly aware this is the Cemetery of the Madeleine," Mordecai replied; then, not waiting for the invitation which he knew would not be tendered, he pushed the little man aside and stepped into the pentice.
"The Citizen sexton would doubtless like to make some extra money?" he asked. "Say five hundred or a thousand francs?"
"Un Américain," the porter recognized his slight accent, "and mad, as all the Yankees are. Drunk, too, pardi'."
Mordecai seized the fellow's shoulder, for he was edging slyly toward the door, and shook a sheaf of assignats beneath his nose. "Have the kindness to smell those, my friend," he ordered. "Regard me well: five hundred now, a like amount when you've done what I ask."
Speculative avarice brought a much brighter gleam to the intendant's little eyes. "The Citizen Américain desires
"The pistol grasped in his hand with cadaveric rigor told the story."
