"Conceivable, but unlikely. Martin is a little crude; but you
are not, Mr. Heyst. To tell you the truth, I don't know precisely
where he is. He has been a little mysterious of late; but he has my
confidence. No, don't get up, Mr. Heyst!"
The viciousness of his spectral face was indescribable. Heyst, who had
moved a little, was surprised by the disclosure.
"It was not my intention," he said.
"Pray remain seated," Mr. Jones insisted in a languid voice, but with a
very determined glitter in his black eye-caverns.
"If you were more observant," said Heyst with dispassionate contempt,
"you would have known before I had been five minutes in the room that I
had no weapon of any sort on me."
"Possibly; but pray keep your hands still. They are very well where they
are. This is too big an affair for me to take any risks."
"Big? Too big?" Heyst repeated with genuine surprise. "Good Heavens!
Whatever you are looking for, there's very little of it here--very
little of anything."
"You would naturally say so, but that's not what we have heard,"
retorted Mr. Jones quickly, with a grin so ghastly that it was
impossible to think it voluntary.
Heyst's face had grown very gloomy. He knitted his brows.
"What have you heard?" he asked.
"A lot, Mr. Heyst--a lot," affirmed Mr. Jones. He was vying to recover
his manner of languid superiority.
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