As a matter of fact, after flinging away the cheroot, Heyst
had gone indoors with the feeling of a man who gives up an unprofitable
occupation. But Ricardo fancied he could hear faint footfalls on the
open ground, and dodged quickly into the room. There he drew breath, and
meditated for a while. His next step was to feel for the matches on
the tall desk, and to light the candle. He had to communicate to his
governor views and reflections of such importance that it was absolutely
necessary for him to watch their effect on the very countenance of the
hearer. At first he had thought that these matters could have waited
till daylight; but Heyst's wakefulness, disclosed in that startling way,
made him feel suddenly certain that there could be no sleep for him that
night.
He said as much to his governor. When the little dagger-like flame had
done its best to dispel the darkness, Mr. Jones was to be seen reposing
on a camp bedstead, in a distant part of the room. A railway rug
concealed his spare form up to his very head, which rested on the
other railway rug rolled up for a pillow. Ricardo plumped himself down
cross-legged on the floor, very close to the low bedstead; so that Mr.
Jones--who perhaps had not been so very profoundly asleep--on opening
his eyes found them conveniently levelled at the face of his secretary.
"Eh? What is it you say? No sleep for you tonight? But why can't you let
_me_ sleep? Confound your fussiness!"
"Because that there fellow can't sleep--that's why.
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