Ricardo, as idle, but
more upright, made no sign.
"Won't you have a drink with me before retiring?" went on Schomberg,
sitting down by the little table.
"By all means," said Mr. Jones lazily.
Ricardo showed his teeth in a strange, quick grin. Schomberg felt
painfully how difficult it was to get in touch with these men, both
so quiet, so deliberate, so menacingly unceremonious. He ordered the
Chinaman to bring in the drinks. His purpose was to discover how long
these guests intended to stay. Ricardo displayed no conversational vein,
but Mr. Jones appeared communicative enough. His voice somehow matched
his sunken eyes. It was hollow without being in the least mournful;
it sounded distant, uninterested, as though he were speaking from the
bottom of a well. Schomberg learned that he would have the privilege of
lodging and boarding these gentlemen for at least a month more. He could
not conceal his discomfiture at this piece of news.
"What's the matter? Don't you like to have people in your house?" asked
plain Mr. Jones languidly. "I should have thought the owner of a hotel
would be pleased."
He lifted his delicate and beautifully pencilled eyebrows. Schomberg
muttered something about the locality being dull and uninteresting to
travellers--nothing going on--too quiet altogether, but he only provoked
the declaration that quiet had its charm sometimes, and even dullness
was welcome as a change.
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