"That's what
I'll do. I won't keep out of sight tonight. I shall come out and catch
him as he goes to bed carrying the cash-box."
After all, what was the fellow but common desperado? Murderous? Oh, yes;
murderous enough, perhaps--and the muscles of Schomberg's stomach had a
quivering contraction under his airy attire. But even a common desperado
would think twice or, more likely, a hundred times, before openly
murdering an inoffensive citizen in a civilized, European-ruled town. He
jerked his shoulders. Of course! He shuddered again, and paddled back to
his room to dress himself. His mind was made up, and he would think
no more about it; but still he had his doubts. They grew and unfolded
themselves with the progress of the day, as some plants do. At times
they made him perspire more than usual, and they did away with the
possibility of his afternoon siesta. After turning over on his couch
more than a dozen times, he gave up this mockery of repose, got up, and
went downstairs.
It was between three and four o'clock, the hour of profound peace. The
very flowers seemed to doze on their stalks set with sleepy leaves. Not
even the air stirred, for the sea-breeze was not due till later. The
servants were out of sight, catching naps in the shade somewhere behind
the house. Mrs. Schomberg in a dim up-stair room with closed jalousies,
was elaborating those two long pendant ringlets which were such a
feature of her hairdressing for her afternoon duties.
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