trate in another long
chair, made a grimace, as if something had tickled the end of his nose,
but did not come out of his supineness. "Martin Ricardo, secretary. You
don't want any more of our history, do you? Eh, what? Occupation? Put
down, well--tourists. We've been called harder names before now; it
won't hurt our feelings. And that fellow of mine--where did you tuck him
away? Oh, he will be all right. When he wants anything he'll take it.
He's Peter. Citizen of Colombia. Peter, Pedro--I don't know that he ever
had any other name. Pedro, alligator hunter. Oh, yes--I'll pay his board
with the half-caste. Can't help myself. He's so confoundedly devoted to
me that if I were to give him the sack he would be at my throat. Shall
I tell you how I killed his brother in the wilds of Colombia? Well,
perhaps some other time--it's a rather long story. What I shall always
regret is that I didn't kill him, too. I could have done it without any
extra trouble then; now it's too late. Great nuisance; but he's useful
sometimes. I hope you are not going to put all this in your book?"

The offhand, hard manner and the contemptuous tone of "plain Mr. Jones"
disconcerted Schomberg utterly. He had never been spoken to like this
in his life. He shook his head in silence and withdrew, not exactly
scared--though he was in reality of a timid disposition under his manly
exterior--but distinctly mystified and impressed.

CHAPTER FIVE

Three weeks later, after putting his cash-box away in the safe which
filled with its iron bulk a corner of their room, Schomberg turned
towards his wife, but without looking at her exactly, and said:

"I must get rid of these two. It won't do!"

Mrs. Schomberg had entertained that very opinion from the first; but she
had been broken years ago into keeping her opinions to herself. Sitting
in her night attire in the light of a single candle, she was careful not
to make a sound, knowing from experience that her very assent would be
resented. With her eyes she followed the figure of Schomberg, clad in
his sleeping suit, and moving restlessly about the room.

He never glanced her way, for the reason that Mrs. Schomberg, in
her night attire, looked the most unattractive object in
existence--miserable, insignificant, faded, crushed, old. And the
contrast with the feminine form he had ever in his mind's eye made his
wife's appearance painful to his aesthetic sense.

Schomberg walked about swearing and fuming