The Homeward Bound
mail boat scheduled to touch and leave Tangiers at five that afternoon.
The reason for this activity was not far to seek. It lay before O'Rourke in the shape of a letter on the top of a little rickety table, whereat the Irishman himself was sitting and writhing in the agonies of epistolary composition.
O'Rourke's color was scarcely less vivid than Danny's; and his perturbation of mind was apparent, even to the body-servant,—who therefore, and sagaciously, was at pains to make no unnecessary disturbance which would tend to distract his master's trend of thoughts, and who kept the corner of an eye warily alert for flying boots and other missiles, which were to be apprehended as signals that O'Rourke was annoyed by his follower.
But, for all that, Danny was trembling with joy; and even the eye of O'Rourke was alight with satisfaction as he conned and reconned the information contained in the brief, legal-looking scrawl which had arrived per the east-bound mall packet, that very morning.
The adventurer divided his attention between that communication and another which he was setting himself determinedly to compose, pending his early departure. He dug fingers into his dark hair and ground his teeth with despair as the pen sputtered and tracked an irregular way across the many sheets of hotel writing-paper which he had requisitioned for his purpose.
At length, with an exclamation which caused Danny to retreat with rapidity to a fine strategic position near the door, whence a further retreat to the outer hallway would be feasible if necessary, O'Rourke thrust aside the page he had just blackened and took up another. With the fire of grim purpose in his glance he settled himself to a fresh start.
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