prudent. But I have plenty of money, see.” And he thrust his large hand into his pocket and drew out a handful of gold. “I will pay in advance, if that is preferred.”
Something in his tone told Adair more than his words.
“If you want my address,” said Ernest, “I dare say that it will be furnished to you in good time. As I have private business to attend to, I will wait your visit instead of inviting you.”
“That is rude and inhospitable. We sailors feel hurt by that sort of thing more than I can tell you.”
“I am sorry,” said Ernest, knocking off the ashes of his cigar.
“You do not ask me home, then?”
“Why should I?”
“Because, if the gentleman to whom you have sent your address should call, and you should not be at home, it will be very convenient that another gentleman should be there to apologise for your disobedience to the orders given you in the garret where your hands were held behind your back.”
“Why not have saved trouble by saying so at first?” said Adair, calmly.
“I hoped that your kind and noble feelings would have made you show a more friendly spirit. I wish you were a good fellow as well as a brave one, we should be such excellent companions.”
“My address is Beevor Street, Marylebone, my number is 16, and my room is the second-floor front. My name is Hyde, and the name of the landlord of the house is Pangbury,” said Ernest Adair, walking away.
“Stop, Mr. Hyde.”
“What more do you wish to know?”
“Have you sent that address to the person who was to have it?”
“Yes.”
“How did you send it?”
“I left it at his office with my own hand.”
“At what time?”
“An hour ago.”
“He will not receive it until to-morrow, then, and a night is lost. There is some question of life or death in the matter. You are prepared to answer for the consequences of the delay?”
“I could not send an address until I had one.”
“I have nothing to say to that.”
“That is fortunate,” said Ernest Adair, haughtily. He had borne much, but the discovery that Haureau had been placed in charge of him, galled Adair almost beyond expression. He had injured and insulted the man, and the reprisals which the coarse nature of Haureau would certainly inflict, now that he had an opportunity, promised to be more offensive to Adair than the cold cynicism of his Parisian colleagues. But he was in the chain, and the taskmaster was behind him with the whip.
“I shall have something to say about that when we meet at our happy breakfast,” said Haureau. “I do not invite myself to supper, because suppers are not an English fashion, I am told, and because I have something to amuse me in this part of the world. Is it any use asking you to join me? You can do no good at home, as your letter is lying in that lawyer’s box, and you may as well spend a pleasant night.”
“I am going home.”
“Yes, I hardly hoped to tempt the aristocrat, by offering him our humble amusements, and yet I could make you known, Adair, to some very good fellows, who would receive you warmly.”
“I understand you. Let them find me out for themselves. I dare say they will be able to do so when it is necessary.”
“No doubt. But I think you are a fool. Pardon my rough tongue, or don’t pardon it, just as you like, it is all the same to me. Only I would ask you what good in the devil’s name you think to do yourself by riding the high horse, and pretending to be anything but what you are? At least, what’s the good of it with me? Do you think that I have anything to learn about you?”
The speech was brutal in tone and in words, and Adair replied with bitter contempt.
“Do you conceive it possible that I care one farthing, Haureau, what you know, or think about me? I thought I made it pretty clear to you just now,” and he pushed forward his foot, “that I do not. But while I have a choice between my own society, and that of a gang of low ruffians, I shall avail myself of that choice. Make the best of that statement when you make your report to your master.”
“I like you better than I ever thought to do. I swear I do, and I am devilishly sorry that you have shown yourself a brave fellow. I don’t want to get to care about you, but your spirit is honourable, and I respect it. By * * * I should be glad to see you escape, after all.”
“You are very good.”
“No, I am not. But I have seen a good deal of fighting-life in my time, and a good deal of cowardice, and a fellow that can turn to bay, when the rope is round his neck—round his neck, did I say?—when the men below have hold of it, and are only waiting the gun to run him up aloft—I say that fellow is made for better things. I swear to you, Adair, that if you think I bear malice about this hole in my arm, you are out. I don’t care for it a curse. I have had a worse cut from a screaming woman, when we had boarded, and cut down the crew, and were making the best of our prize. I bear no malice, and, though business is business, I’ll stand by you, if I can.”
And the ruffian and pirate, or whatever he had been, spoke with all the earnestness of his coarse nature.
“You can do nothing for me, Haureau,” said Adair. “Do your duty, but let me alone as far as you can.”
“I would do that,” said Haureau, “but there’s no latitude allowed me, my fine fellow. You are a dangerous man, and I don’t let you give me the slip.”
“Wolowski must be a fool,” said Ernest Adair, very angrily. “A fool,” he added with an oath. “When a rat’s in a trap, what need of poking at him?”
“Some rats have sharp teeth, and gnaw their way through the best traps, Monsieur Adair, and I take it that your teeth are among the sharpest. But that’s not my business. As for our friend being a fool, that may be, and in one respect I know he is, and you know it, too, or I’m mistaken.”
