"Yes, he was staying here."
"Can you tell me where he is now?" 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.
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