w?" Davidson went on placidly. Within
himself he was beginning to grow anxious, having developed the affection
of a self-appointed protector towards Heyst. The answer he got was:

"Can't tell. It's none of my business," accompanied by majestic
oscillations of the hotel-keeper's head, hinting at some awful mystery.

Davidson was placidity itself. It was his nature. He did not betray his
sentiments, which were not favourable to Schomberg.

"I am sure to find out at the Tesmans' office," he thought. But it was
a very hot hour, and if Heyst was down at the port he would have learned
already that the Sissie was in. It was even possible that Heyst had
already gone on board, where he could enjoy a coolness denied to the
town. Davidson, being stout, was much preoccupied with coolness and
inclined to immobility. He lingered awhile, as if irresolute. Schomberg,
at the door, looking out, affected perfect indifference. He could not
keep it up, though. Suddenly he turned inward and asked with brusque
rage:

"You wanted to see him?"

"Why, yes," said Davidson. "We agreed to meet--"

"Don't you bother. He doesn't care about that now."

"Doesn't he?"

"Well, you can judge for yourself. He isn't here, is he? You take my
word for it. Don't you bother about him. I am advising you as a friend."

"Thank you," said, Davidson, inwardly startled at the savage tone. "I
think I will sit down for a moment and have a drink, after all."

This was not what Schomberg had expected to hear. He called brutally:

"Boy!"

The Chinaman approached, and after referring him to the white man by a
nod the hotel-keeper departed, muttering to himself. Davidson heard him
gnash his teeth as he went.

Davidson sat alone with the billiard-tables as if there had been not a
soul staying in the hotel. His placidity was so genuine that he was not
unduly, fretting himself over the absence of Heyst, or the mysterious
manners Schomberg had treated him to. He was considering these things in
his own fairly shrewd way. Something had happened; and he was loath to
go away to investigate, being restrained by a presentiment that somehow
enlightenment would come to him there. A poster of CONCERTS EVERY
EVENING, like those on the gate, but in a good state of preservation,
hung on the wall fronting him. He looked at it idly and was struck by
the fact--then not so very common--that it was a ladies' orchestra;
"Zangiacomo's eastern tour--eighteen performers." The poster