and ran off the island in rapid succession. Ricardo,
unexpectedly, dashed ahead up the steps and put his head through the
doorway.

"Here he is, governor! Keep him with you as long as you can--till you
hear me whistle. I am on the track."

He flung these words into the room with inconceivable speed, and stood
aside to let the visitor pass through the doorway; but he had to wait
an appreciable moment, because Heyst, seeing his purpose, had scornfully
slowed his pace. When Heyst entered the room it was with a smile, the
Heyst smile, lurking under his martial moustache.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Two candles were burning on the stand-up desk. Mr. Jones, tightly
enfolded in an old but gorgeous blue silk dressing-gown, kept his
elbows close against his sides and his hands deeply plunged into the
extraordinarily deep pockets of the garment. The costume accentuated his
emaciation. He resembled a painted pole leaning against the edge of the
desk, with a dried head of dubious distinction stuck on the top of it.
Ricardo lounged in the doorway. Indifferent in appearance to what
was going on, he was biding his time. At a given moment, between two
flickers of lightning, he melted out of his frame into the outer
air. His disappearance was observed on the instant by Mr. Jones, who
abandoned his nonchalant immobility against the desk, and made a few
steps calculated to put him between Heyst and the doorway.

"It's awfully close," he remarked

Heyst, in the middle of the room, had made up his mind to speak plainly.

"We haven't met to talk about the weather. You favoured me earlier in
the day with a rather cryptic phrase about yourself. 'I am he that is,'
you said. What does that mean?"

Mr. Jones, without looking at Heyst, continued his absentminded
movements till, attaining the desired position, he brought his shoulders
with a thump against the wall near the door, and raised his head. In
the emotion of the decisive moment his haggard face glistened with
perspiration. Drops ran down his hollow cheeks and almost blinded the
spectral eyes in their bony caverns.

"It means that I am a person to be reckoned with. No--stop! Don't put
your hand into your pocket--don't."

His voice had a wild, unexpected shrillness. Heyst started, and there
ensued a moment of suspended animation, during which the thunder's
deep bass muttered distantly and the doorway to the right of Mr. Jones
flickered with bluish light. At last Heyst shrugged his s