Bishop Caiaphas was gazing steadily at him. "Well, my man," he said, at last, "Inspector Dolan tells me that you are willing to help us arrest this Man." The man's gaze dropped from the picture to the bishop's face. He did not reply, but he began again turning his hat around and around in his hands. "What do you know about Him?" the bishop continued. "Why," said the man, "I know Him--that is, I've been with Him, off and on--that is, near for a year, I reckon." "What makes you willing to betray Him?" asked the bishop, curiously. "Have you any cause of enmity against Him?" The man looked at him with a half-bewildered look, as though not exactly understanding the purport of the question. Then a secondary look of intelligence came into his face. "Oh," he said, "do you mean have I anything agin Him? Why, no; so far as that goes I haven't anything agin Him, nor He hasn't done anything agin me. There was a lot of us together--a kind of company, you know--and I always carried the money for the rest. Sometimes we had a little money, and then sometimes we hadn't. I was with Him ever since last April a year ago up to last fall, when my father was took sick; and there ain't nothing in it. He won't take money Hisself for curing folks, and He wouldn't let any of us take money." "And are you willing to show us where we may find Him?" asked the bishop. "Why, yes," said the other; "so far as that goes, I'm willing to do that if I'm paid for it. I haven't got nothing agin Him, but I don't owe Him nothing, neither." Bishop Caiaphas was looking at the man, trying to get into the workings of his mind. "Of course," he said, "we are willing to pay you for your trouble. We don't ask you to help us for nothing." "No, sir," said Iscariot, "I know that. I just mean to speak plain, sir, when I say I've got to be paid for doing it. You see, He don't pay me nothing, and I ain't beholden to Him for nothing, but, all the same, I ain't got no spite agin Him." "How much do you expect us to pay you?" said the bishop. "I don't know," said the man. "How much do you think it would be worth to you? You see, I've got to keep track of Him all the time, and then I've got to let you know where He's going to be, and where you can come up with Him. It may be a matter of four or five days." "This gentleman," said the bishop, indicating Mr. Inkerman, "seems to think that ten dollars would be about right." The man looked down into his hat and began again turning it around and around in his hands. "I don't know that I care to do it for that," he said. "I don't know that I care to do it at all, but this gentleman here"--indicating Inspector Dolan--"he comes to me and he says he heard I know where He's to be found, and that I wasn't particular about keeping with Him any longer." "And how much, then, do you think would be worth while?" said the bishop. "Oh, well," said the man, "I don't just know about that. I wouldn't mind doing it if you gave me thirty dollars."