Part 9 (1/2)

The fat man looked at Bateman with shrewd, suspicious eyes. He called to one of the boys in the warehouse.

”Say, Henry, where's Barnard now, d'you know?”

”He's working at Cameron's, I think,” came the answer from someone who did not trouble to move.

The fat man nodded.

”If you turn to your left when you get out of here you'll come to Cameron's in about three minutes.”

Bateman hesitated.

”I think I should tell you that Edward Barnard is my greatest friend. I was very much surprised when I heard he'd left Braunschmidt & Co.”

The fat man's eyes contracted till they seemed like pin-points, and their scrutiny made Bateman so uncomfortable that he felt himself blus.h.i.+ng.

”I guess Braunschmidt & Co. and Edward Barnard didn't see eye to eye on certain matters,” he replied.

Bateman did not quite like the fellow's manner, so he got up, not without dignity, and with an apology for troubling him bade him good-day. He left the place with a singular feeling that the man he had just interviewed had much to tell him, but no intention of telling it.

He walked in the direction indicated and soon found himself at Cameron's. It was a trader's store, such as he had pa.s.sed half a dozen of on his way, and when he entered the first person he saw, in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, measuring out a length of trade cotton, was Edward. It gave him a start to see him engaged in so humble an occupation. But he had scarcely appeared when Edward, looking up, caught sight of him, and gave a joyful cry of surprise.

”Bateman! Who ever thought of seeing you here?”

He stretched his arm across the counter and wrung Bateman's hand. There was no self-consciousness in his manner and the embarra.s.sment was all on Bateman's side.

”Just wait till I've wrapped this package.”

With perfect a.s.surance he ran his scissors across the stuff, folded it, made it into a parcel, and handed it to the dark-skinned customer.

”Pay at the desk, please.”

Then, smiling, with bright eyes, he turned to Bateman.

”How did you show up here? Gee, I am delighted to see you. Sit down, old man. Make yourself at home.”

”We can't talk here. Come along to my hotel. I suppose you can get away?”

This he added with some apprehension.

”Of course I can get away. We're not so businesslike as all that in Tahiti.” He called out to a Chinese who was standing behind the opposite counter. ”Ah-Ling, when the boss comes tell him a friend of mine's just arrived from America and I've gone out to have a drain with him.”

”All-light,” said the Chinese, with a grin.

Edward slipped on a coat and, putting on his hat, accompanied Bateman out of the store. Bateman attempted to put the matter facetiously.

”I didn't expect to find you selling three and a half yards of rotten cotton to a greasy n.i.g.g.e.r,” he laughed.

”Braunschmidt fired me, you know, and I thought that would do as well as anything else.”

Edward's candour seemed to Bateman very surprising, but he thought it indiscreet to pursue the subject.