It was a day or two later, and Anthony went to the counting-house of
Rufus Stevens' Sons and again inquired for his uncle. The same affable
man who had spoken with him on his previous visit came forward, and
once more regretted Mr. Stevens's absence.
"But," said he, "he is on his way. The vessel he named to sail in
should be in the bay by this time, as the weather has been good, and
she is a good sailer. Is there anything we can serve you in?"
"Nothing, thank you." Anthony was turning away.
"What name shall I say?" asked the affable man.
"Stevens."
The affable manner was instantly reinforced by one of much respect.
"It may be that you are related to Mr. Charles," ventured the man.
"His nephew," said Anthony.
The man at once produced a chair.
"I shall call Mr. Whitaker," he said.
Anthony would have asked him not to do so; but just then he caught
sight of a woman's figure in another room, the door of which was open,
and before he had taken his gaze away Whitaker came up.
"This is a pleasure," said Whitaker, shaking his hand. "Mr. Stevens has
not returned, but we're glad to see you, anyhow."
"I'm told he's expected back shortly."
"Yes, but then you never can tell what the wind will do off the capes.
Devil of an excitement going on in the city, isn't there? what with
this fellow up the street being taken off as he was, and all that. I
don't think I've seen anything but gossiping knots of people, coroners'
juries, and city officials for the past two days."
Anthony nodded toward the open door.
"I thought," said he, "I recognized some one inside there."
"Oh, Mr. Weir?"
"No, the lady. Isn't it Mademoiselle Lafargue, daughter of your
Monsieur Lafargue, of Brest?"
"Daughter of Lafargue!" Whitaker glanced, surprised, into the adjoining
room. "Is that who it is?" He pulled at his neck-cloth to give it a
better set and asked with interest: "How long have you known her?"
"Why, I can't say that I know her at all," said Anthony. "It just
chanced a few days ago that I exchanged some words with her father."
"So he has a daughter," mused Whitaker in an injured tone. "And he
never so much as mentioned the fact while I was at Brest; and I was
there upwards of a month! I'd never have taken him for that kind.
He seemed much more of the gentleman." As Anthony made no reply to
this, Whitaker went on. "On the whole, I don't know what to make of
Lafargue. He seems peculiar. Yesterday I happened to mention to Captain
Weir--that's him talking to mademoiselle--that I'd seen Lafargue at the
coffee-house, and I really think he didn't like it. I believe, in my
soul," said Whitaker, "old Lafargue is here unexpectedly; and what he
means by it I can't say."
The girl, as Anthony watched her, was standing with one hand resting
upon the back of a chair; her head was held well up, and she was
talking spiritedly.
"Who is Mr. Weir?" said Anthony, his gaze going toward the man to whom
she was speaking.
He was above the average size, of angular, powerful frame, and his
hair was sprinkled with gray. His face was well looking, but singularly
mask-like; his eyes were deep-set and steady; they had the quality of
cold, green stone. But it was his movements that attracted Anthony's
attention. While the girl talked he paced backward and forward; each
move had a peculiar deftness; each foot was put down much as a hand
might be--a combination of sureness and power which reminded Anthony of
some of the huge cat-like beasts of the wilderness. There was a fine
dignity about Mr. Weir; his air was one of authority; across his left
jaw was a red seam.
"Have you never heard of him?" asked Whitaker. "He's been with the
house since your grandfather's day; and, between ourselves, I don't
see how your uncle could do without him. A fine, upstanding man, very
fair, and with a great mind for detail. It's strange you haven't heard
of him. It was Mr. Weir who commanded your grandfather's ship _Argus_,
when she outran and outfought two English corvettes and a sloop-of-war.
His name is written into the histories. A very capable person; it's a
pleasure to work under him."
Just then the girl turned and came, agitated, toward the door of the
room. There she paused.
"I shall repeat your words to my father," she said. "He is old and not
in good health, and what you have said will be a shock to him."
"He is a man, and will understand the advisability of what I say," said
Mr. Weir, his eyes cold, green, and unemotional. "Assure him of my
consideration, and say that I hope to see him soon."
Without a word the girl came out into the counting-room. As she passed
Anthony on her way to the street, her head was bent, her eyes upon the
floor; for an instant the young man fancied that she raised them ever
so little and saw him. He took off his hat, but she never paused. Mr.
Weir opened the street door for her; Anthony heard her low voiced
"Good-by," and she was gone.
"Mr. Weir," said Whitaker, "may I present Mr. Anthony Stevens?"
The cold, steady eyes of the man seemed to take in Anthony at a single
glance; and he held out his hand.
"I had heard you were in the city," said he. "Dr. King mentioned it. In
the absence of your uncle, permit me to welcome you."
Later Whitaker was called away, and Weir said:
"After your father's death I had all but forgotten that he had a son;
then one day I received a report from our correspondent at New Orleans
that brought you back to me in a way that insured your not slipping me
in the future."
"What was that?" asked Anthony.
"It was an account of your affair with Alvaro," said Weir, and again
his steady eyes took in the young man from head to foot.
Anthony smiled.
"There was a great deal of talk about that at the time," said he, "but
it was, after all, a matter of no large consequence. Montufars had
suffered greatly from the toll-takers who occupy the reefs and islands
below New Orleans, and was hard put to it at the time to meet his
business obligations. He feared to let a vessel go out, knowing the
pirates would loot it; and in the end his spirit broke completely. I
saw that something must be quickly done if he was to be rescued from
his embarrassments, and the quickest method was to visit Alvaro.
"I found the old thief snug in his den, overlooking the principal
street of New Orleans. There was not a merchant trading in the port
who did not know this man was the agent of the pirates, that it was
he who bribed the authorities to keep their hands off, and that every
seafaring enterprise had to pay for his protection. Why men will
permit such bloated old spiders to get the upper hand of them," said
Anthony, "I cannot understand."
"What did you do?" asked Mr. Weir.
"I laid a loaded pistol on the table before him. I told him that two
ships of Montufars were due within a week's time, and that one was to
sail, outward bound, directly. And, further, I said, if any harm came
to any one of them, be it ever so little, I would shoot him dead."
"And what followed?"
"All three were allowed to pass about their business, unmolested; and
in consequence Alvaro still lives, fat as ever, and taking tribute from
those who are afraid of him."
Mr. Weir laughed; and as he did the red seam across his jaw looked
deeper and darker; the green, flint-like eyes seemed colder.
"That is a deal like your grandfather would have done it," said he.
"But what action did the port officials take? for in preventing the
looting of these ships you interfered sadly with one of their most
cherished privileges."
Anthony made a wry face.
"They made me feel that," said he. "And, because of their hostility,
any vessel I sailed in was marked; finally, it was impossible for me to
get one; and so I took to the inland trade, which I have followed ever
since."
Weir nodded.
"I've heard of some of your doings; it may be," seeing Anthony's
questioning look, "that our agent, noting the interest of the house in
the matter you've just described, was at some pains afterwards to keep
himself in the way of tidings of you. At any rate, he'd often jot down
bits of news concerning your enterprises." He studied Anthony for a few
moments, and then asked, "Has your interest in land traffic taken away
all your desire for the sea?"
"You are taking it for granted that I had such a desire," smiled
Anthony.
"No one with a drop of Rufus Stevens's blood in his body could be
without it." They talked about old Rufus for a space, and then Weir
asked: "Have you seen your uncle since you left here as a boy?"
"No."
"You'll like him," said the other. "And I feel sure he'll like you."
And then, after another little period of talk, "Have you ever sailed as
master of a ship?"
"No, as mate only."
Mr. Weir nodded.
"Yes," said he, "I think your uncle will be greatly interested in you."
And then when Anthony shook hands with him, about to go, he added: "The
moment his vessel docks, you shall be notified. Are you lodged at one
of the taverns?"
"The Half Moon."
"I shall remember that."
Anthony left the counting-room and started up Water Street. Directly
ahead, a carriage was drawn up close to the foot-path, and the traffic
of the street was ill-humoredly skirting it. As the young man was on
the point of passing, he heard a woman's voice; turning his head he saw
Mademoiselle Lafargue leaning from the open window of the vehicle, her
eyes wide, her face white.
"Mademoiselle!" said Anthony, shocked.
"I have been awaiting you," she said. He was about to speak, but she
gestured him not to do so. "The other day my father and myself gained
by your good will. You showed yourself a friend, though a stranger. If
you saw us again in need of help, would you come forward, once more, to
give it?"
"I would," said Anthony.
"We are in danger," she said. "How great, and how immediate, I do not
know, and there is not a soul in the whole world to whom we can appeal
but you." She spoke to the coachman and the carriage started. "Thank
you," she said to Anthony, gratitude in her frightened eyes. "To-morrow
you shall hear from me." With that she was gone; and Anthony, his tall
hat in his hand, stood staring after her.