MACAIRE. Like? Nothing. A little blood, a dead man. BERTRAND. Blood!... Dead! (_He falls at table sobbing. MACAIRE divides the notes into two parts; on the smaller he wipes the bloody knife, and folding the stains inward, thrusts the notes into BERTRAND'S face._) MACAIRE. What is life without the pleasures of the table? BERTRAND (_taking and pocketing notes_). Macaire, I can't get over it. MACAIRE. My mark is the frontier, and at top speed. Don't hang your jaw at me. Up, up, at the double; pick me that cash-box; and let's get the damned house fairly cleared. BERTRAND. I can't. Did he bleed much? MACAIRE. Bleed? Must I bleed you? To work, or I'm dangerous. BERTRAND. It's all right, Macaire; I'm going. MACAIRE. Better so: an old friend is nearly sacred. (_Full daylight: lights up. MACAIRE blows out lantern._) BERTRAND. Where's the key? MACAIRE. Key? I tell you to pick it. BERTRAND (_with the box_). But it's a patent lock. Where is the key? You had it. MACAIRE. Will you pick that lock? BERTRAND. I can't; it's a patent. Where's the key? MACAIRE. If you will have it, I put it back in that old ass's pocket. BERTRAND. Bitten, I think. (_MACAIRE dancing mad._) SCENE II _To these, DUMONT_ DUMONT. Ah, friends, up so early? Catching the worm, catching the worm? MACAIRE. Good morning, good morning! \ > _Both sitting on the table and BERTRAND. Early birds, early birds. / dissembling box._ DUMONT. By the way, very remarkable thing: I found that key. MACAIRE. No! BERTRAND. O! DUMONT. Perhaps a still more remarkable thing: it was my key that had the twisted handle. MACAIRE. I told you so. DUMONT. Now, what we have to do is to get the cash-box. Hallo! what's that you're sitting on? BERTRAND. Nothing. MACAIRE. The table! I beg your pardon. DUMONT. Why, it's my cash-box! MACIARE. Why, so it is! DUMONT. It's very singular. MACAIRE. Diabolishly singular. BERTRAND. Early worms, early worms! DUMONT (_blowing in key_). Well, I suppose you are still willing to begone? MACAIRE. More than willing, my dear soul: pressed, I may say, for time; for though it had quite escaped my memory, I have an appointment in Turin with a lady of title. DUMONT (_at box_). It's very odd. (_Blows in key._) It's a singular thing (_blowing_), key won't turn. It's a patent. Someone must have tampered with the lock (_blowing_). It's strangely singular, it's singularly singular! I've shown this key to commercial gentlemen all the way from Paris: they never saw a better key! (_more business_). Well, (_giving it up and looking reproachfully on key_,) that's pretty singular. MACAIRE. Let me try. (_He tries, and flings down the key with a curse._) Bitten! BERTRAND. Sold again! DUMONT (_picking up key_). It's a patent key.