He thought of it, at that moment. A swift stooping motion,
then, on the recovery, a ripping blow, a shove off the wharf, and no
noise except a splash in the water that would scarcely disturb the
silence. Heyst would have no time for a cry. It would be quick and neat,
and immensely in accord with Ricardo's humour. But he repressed this
gust of savagery. The job was not such a simple one. This piece had to
be played to another tune, and in much slower time. He returned to his
note of talkative simplicity.
"Ay; and I too don't feel as strong as I thought I was when the first
drink set me up. Great wonder-worker water is! And to get it right here
on the spot! It was heaven--hey, sir?"
Mr Jones, being directly addressed, took up his part in the concerted
piece:
"Really, when I saw a wharf on what might have been an uninhabited
island, I couldn't believe my eyes. I doubted its existence. I thought
it was a delusion till the boat actually drove between the piles, as you
see her lying now."
While he was speaking faintly, in a voice which did not seem to belong
to the earth, his henchman, in extremely loud and terrestrial accents,
was fussing about their belongings in the boat, addressing himself to
Pedro:
"Come, now--pass up the dunnage there! Move, yourself, hombre, or I'll
have to get down again and give you a tap on those bandages of yours,
you growling bear, you!"
"Ah! You didn't believe in the reality of the wharf?" Heyst was saying
to Mr.
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