Part 3 (1/2)

”Captain Black presents his compliments to Mr. Mark Strong, whom he had the pleasure of receiving last night, and regrets the reception which was offered to him. Captain Black hopes that it will be his privilege to receive Mr. Strong on his yacht _La France_, now lying over against the American vessel _Portland_, in Dieppe harbour, at 11 to-night, and to extend to him hospitality worthy of him and his host.”

Now, that was a curious thing indeed. Not only did it appear that my pretence of being Hall's partner in trade was completely unmasked by this man of the Rue Joubert; but he had my name--and, by his tone in writing, it was clear that he knew my position, and the fact that I was no trader at all. Whether such knowledge was good for me, I could not then say; but I made up my mind to act with cunning, and to s.h.i.+eld Hall in so far as was possible.

”Did your master tell you to wait for any answer?” I asked suddenly, as the seaman brought his right eye from the direction of the ceiling and fixed it upon me; and he said--

”Is it for the likes of me to be advisin' yer honor? 'Sure,' says he, 'if the gentleman has the moind to wroite he'll wroite, if he has the moind to come aboard me--meanin' his yacht--he'll come aboard; and we'll be swimming in liquor together as gents should. And if so be as the gentleman' (which is yer honor), says he, 'will condescend to wipe his fate on me cabin shates, let him be aboard at Dieppe afore seven bells,' says he, 'and we'll shame the ould divil with a keg, and heave at daybreak'--which is yer honor's pleasure, or otherwise, as it's me juty to larn!”

It needed no very clever penetration on my part to read danger in every line of this invitation--not only danger to myself, who had been dragged by the heels into the business, but danger to Hall, whose disguise could scarce be preserved when mine was unmasked. And yet he had left Paris, and even then, perhaps, was in the power of the man Black and his crew! What I could do to help him, I could not think; but I determined if possible to glean something from the palpably cunning rogue who had come on the errand.

”I'll give you the answer to this in a minute,” said I; ”meanwhile, have a little whisky? A seaman like yourself doesn't thrive on cold water, does he?”

”Which is philosophy, yer honor--for could wather never warmed any man yet--me respects to the young lady”--here he looked deep into his gla.s.s, adding slowly, and as if there was credit to him in the recollection, ”Oi was priest's boy in Tipperary, bedad”--and he drank the half of a stiff gla.s.s at a draught.

”Do you find this good weather in the Channel?” I inquired suddenly, looking hard at him over the table.

He made circles with his gla.s.s, and turned his eyes upon Mary, before he answered; and when he did, his voice died away like the fall of a gale which is tired. ”Noice weather, did ye say--by the houly saints, it depends.”

”On what?” I asked, driving the question home.

”On yer company,” said he, returning my gaze, ”and yer sowl.”

”That's curious!”

”Yes, if ye have one to lose, and put anny price on it.”

His meaning was too clear.

”Tell your master, with my compliments,” I responded, ”that I will come another time--I have business in Paris to-day!”

He still looked at me earnestly, and when he spoke again his voice had a fatherly ring. ”If I make bold, it's yer honor's forgiveness I ask--but, if it was me that was in Paris I'd stay there,” and putting his gla.s.s down quickly, he rolled to the door, fingered his hat there for one moment, put it on awry, and with the oft-repeated statement, ”Oi was priest's boy in Tipperary, bedad,” he swayed out of the room.

When he was gone, the others, who had not spoken, turned to me, their eyes asking for an explanation.

”One of Hall's friends,” I said, trying to look unconcerned, ”the mate on the yacht _La France_--the vessel he joins to-day.”

Roderick tapped the table with his fingers; Mary was very white, I thought.

”He knows a queer company,” I added, with a grim attempt at jocularity, ”they're almost as rough as he is.”

”Do you still mean to sail to-night?” asked Roderick.

”I must; I have made a promise to reach Plymouth without a moment's delay.”

”Then I sail with you,” said he, being very wide-awake.

”Oh, but you can't leave Paris; you promised Mary!”

”Yes, and I release him at once,” interrupted Mary, the colour coming and going in her pretty cheeks, ”I shall sail from Calais to-night with you and Roderick.”

”It's very kind of you--but--you see----”