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Schomberg uplifted his hands in distress. This tribute seemed to flatter Ricardo. His mouth twitched grimly.

“Like that enough to give colic to an ostrich, eh ? Awful. Well, there was a cook there who loved mean old, fat negro woman with spectacles. I used to hide in the kitchen and turn her to, to make me dulces-sweet things, you know, mostly eggs and sugar—to pass the time away. I am like a kid for sweet things. And, by the way, why don't you ever have a pudding at your tablydott, Mr. Schomberg ? Nothing but fruit, morning, noon, and night. Sickening! What do you think a fellow is—a

wasp ?"

Schomberg disregarded the injured tone.

“And how long did that fit, as you call it, last ?” he asked anxiously.

“Weeks, months, years, centuries, it seemed to me," returned Mr. Ricardo with feeling. "Of an evening the governor would stroll out into the sala and fritter his life away playing cards with the juez of the place—a little Dago with a pair of black whiskers—ekarty, you know, a quick French game, for small change. And the comandante, a one-eyed, half-Indian, flat-nosed ruffian and I, we had to stand around and bet on their hands. It was awful!"

“Awful,” echoed Schomberg in a Teutonic

throaty tone of despair. "Look here, I need your rooms.

“To be sure. I have been thinking that for some time past,” said Ricardo indifferently.

"I was mad when I listened to you. This must end!”

“I think you are mad yet,” said Ricardo, not even unfolding his arms or shifting his attitude an inch. He lowered his voice to add: “And if I thought you had been to the police, I would tell Pedro to catch you round the waist and break you fat neck by jerking your head backward-snap! I saw him do it to a big buck nigger who was flourishing a razor in front of the governor. It can be done. You hear a low crack, that's all—and the man drops down like a limp rag."

Not even Ricardo's head, slightly inclined on the left shoulder, had moved; but when he ceased the greenish irises which had been staring out of doors glided into the corners of his eyes nearest to Schomberg and stayed there with a coyly voluptuous expression.

VIII

Schomberg felt desperation, that lamentable substitute for courage, ooze out of him. It was not so much the threat of death as the weirdly circumstantial manner of its declaration which affected him. A mere “I'll murder you,” however ferocious in tone and earnest in purpose, he could have faced; but before this novel mode of speech and procedure, his imagination being very sensitive to the unusual, he collapsed as if indeed his moral neck had been broken -snap!

“Go to the police ? Of course not. Never dreamed of it. Too late now. I've let myself be mixed up in this. You got my consent while I wasn't myself. I explained it to you at the time.”

Ricardo's eyes glided gently off Schomberg to stare far away.

“Ay! Some trouble with a girl. But that's nothing to us.

“Naturally. What I say is, what's the good of

all that savage talk to me ?” A bright argument occurred to him. “It's out of proportion; for even if I were fool enough to go to the police now, there's nothing serious to complain about. It would only mean deportation for you. They would put you on board the first west-bound steamer to Singapore." He had become animated. “Out of this to the devil,” he added between his teeth for his own private satisfaction.

Ricardo made no comment, and gave no sign of having heard a single word. This discouraged Schomberg, who had looked up hopefully.

“Why do you want to stick here ?” he cried. “It can't pay you people to fool around like this. Didn't you worry just now about moving your governor ? Well, the police would move him for you; and from Singapore you can go on to the east coast of Africa."

“I'll be hanged if the fellow isn't up to that silly trick !” was Ricardo's comment, spoken in an ominous tone which recalled Schomberg to the realities of his position.

“No! No!” he protested. “It's a manner of speaking. Of course I wouldn't.”

"I think that trouble about the girl has really muddled your brains, Mr. Schomberg. Believe me, you had better part friends with us; for, deportation or no deportation, you'll be seeing one of us turning

up before long to pay you off for any nasty dodge you may be hatching in that fat head of yours.”

"Gott im Himmel!groaned Schomberg. "Will nothing move him out ? Will he stop here immer

-I mean always ? Suppose I were to make it worth your while, couldn't you—"

"No," Ricardo interrupted. "I couldn't, unless I had something to lever him out with. I've told you that before.”

"An inducement ?" muttered Schomberg.

“Ay. The east coast of Africa isn't good enough. He told me the other day that it will have to wait till he is ready for it; and he may not be ready for a long time, because the east coast can't run away, and no one is likely to run off with it.”

These remarks, whether considered as truisms or as depicting Mr. Jones's mental state, were distinctly discouraging to the long-suffering Schomberg; but there is truth in the well-known saying that places the darkest hour before the dawn. The sound of words, apart from the context, has its power; and these two words, “run off," had a special affinity to the hotelkeeper's haunting idea. It was always present in his brain, and now it came forward evoked by a purely fortuitous expression. No, nobody could run off with a continent; but Heyst had run off with the girl!

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