"Indeed," stammered Barnabas, "I--it was only three pounds, after all,
and--there,--go,--hurry away to your husband, and--ah! that reminds
me,--he will want help, perhaps!" Here Barnabas took out his card,
and thrust it into her hand. "Take that to my house, ask to see my
Steward, Mr. Peterby,--stay, I'll write the name for you, he will
look after you, and--good-by!"
"It is a truly pleasant thing to meet with heartfelt gratitude, sir,"
said Jasper Gaunt, as the door closed behind the woman. "And now I
am entirely at your service,--this way, sir."
Forthwith Barnabas followed him into another room, where sat the
Captain, his long legs stretched out before him, his chin on his
breast, staring away at vacancy.
"Sir," said Jasper Gaunt, glancing from Barnabas to the Captain and
back again, "he will not trouble us, I think, but if you wish him to
withdraw--?"
"Thank you--no," answered Barnabas, "Captain Slingsby is my friend!"
Jasper Gaunt bowed, and seated himself at his desk opposite Barnabas.
His face was in shadow, for the blind had been half-drawn to exclude
the glare of the afternoon sun, and he sat, or rather lolled, in a
low, deeply cushioned chair, studying Barnabas with his eyes that
were so bright and so very knowing in the ways of mankind; very
still he sat, and very quiet, waiting for Barnabas to begin. Now on
the wall, immediately behind him, was a long, keen-bladed dagger,
that glittered evilly where the light caught it; and as he sat there
so very quiet and still, with his face in the shadow, it seemed to
Barnabas as though he lolled there dead, with the dagger smitten
sideways through his throat, and in that moment Barnabas fancied he
could hear the deliberate tick-tock of the wizen-faced clock upon
the stairs.
"I have come," began Barnabas at last, withdrawing his eyes from the
glittering steel with an effort, "I am here on behalf of one--in
whom I take an interest--a great interest."
"Yes, Mr. Beverley?"
"I have undertaken to--liquidate his debts."
"Yes, Mr. Beverley."
"To pay--whatever he may owe, both principal and interest."
"Indeed, Mr. Beverley! And--his name?"
"His name is Ronald Barrymaine."
"Ronald--Barrymaine!" There was a pause between the words, and the
smooth, soft voice had suddenly grown so harsh, so deep and vibrant,
that it seemed incredible the words could have proceeded from the
lips of the motionless figure lolling in the chair with his face in
the shadow and the knife glittering behind him.
"I have made out to you a draft for more than enough, as I judge, to
cover Mr. Barrymaine's liabilities."
"For how much, sir?"
"Twenty-two thousand pounds."
Then Jasper Gaunt stirred, sighed, and leaned forward in his chair.
"A handsome sum, sir,--a very handsome sum, but--" and he smiled and
shook his head.