"Did you find your friend Schmidt?" inquired their host of Browne as he
seated himself in a chair and lit a cigar.
"Yes," the latter answered, "I found him, and a curious character he
is. He has some wonderful curios in his shop, and I could have spent a
day there overhauling them."
"I should be very careful, if I were you, what sort of dealings you
have with him," said the other, with what struck Browne as a peculiar
meaning. "He does not bear any too good a reputation in these parts.
I have heard some funny stories about him at one time and another."
"Oh, you need not be afraid on my account," replied Browne. "As I told
you in your office, my dealings with him are of a purely commercial
character, and I don't think he has robbed me of very much so far.
Now, what would you say if we were to make our way to the yacht?"
They accordingly adjourned to the boat. Perhaps, as the result of his
interview that afternoon, Browne was in the highest of spirits. He did
the honours of his table royally, and the new-comer, ever since that
day, has been wont to declare that it was the jolliest dinner of which
he has ever partaken in his life. How little he guessed the tragedy
that was overhanging it all! Of the quartette, Maas was the only one
in any way silent. For some reason or another _he_ seemed strangely
preoccupied. It was not until some months later that Browne heard from
Jimmy Foote that that afternoon, during their perambulations of the
city, he had excused himself, and having discovered the direction of
the telegraph station, had left them for upwards of three-quarters of
an hour.
"I am not quite myself to-night," he remarked, in reply to a remark
from Browne. "But I have no doubt I shall be all right again
to-morrow."
Dinner being at an end, they adjourned to the deck, where they settled
down to coffee and cigars. The myriad lights of the city ashore
flashed out, and were reflected like countless diamonds in the still
waters of the bay. Browne was irresistibly reminded of another
harbour-scene. At another momentous epoch of his life, he had sat on
this self-same deck, and looked across the water at the lights ashore.
And what a different man he had been then to the man he was now! So
much had happened that it seemed scarcely possible it could be the same.
Their friend of the afternoon proved a most interesting companion. He
had spent the greater portion of his life in the Farthest East, and was
full of anecdotes of strange men he had met, and still stranger things
he had seen. They reclined in their deck-chairs and smoked until close
upon ten o'clock. Then the new-comer thought it was time for him to
see about getting ashore. He accordingly rose from his chair, and was
commencing the usual preparatory speeches, when a hail from alongside
reached their ears. A quartermaster went to the bulwark and inquired
who was calling, and what he wanted. A voice answered him in educated
English:--
"Can you tell me if this is the _Lotus Blossom_?" it said.
"Yes," answered the quartermaster. "What do you want?"
"I want to see Mr. Browne, if he is aboard," the other answered.
"He is aboard," returned the quartermaster. "But I don't know whether
he can see you. I will inquire."
"Who is he?" asked Browne. "Tell him to give you his name."
The quartermaster hailed the sampan again. "He says his name is
MacAndrew, sir," he replied after a short pause, "and if you will see
him, he says he will not detain you many minutes."
"Let him come aboard, then," said Browne. "Just tell him to look
sharp." Then, turning to his guests, he continued, "I wonder who the
fellow is, and what he wants with me at this hour of the night." In
his own heart he thought he knew pretty well.
"By the way," remarked his guest, "I should advise you to keep your
eyes open while you are in this port. You can have no idea what queer
sort of people you will have to do with; but when I tell you that it is
the favourite meeting-place for half the villains of the East, you will
have some very good notion."
"Thanks for the warning," returned Browne. "I'll bear it in mind."
He had scarcely finished speaking, before the figure of a man appeared
at the top of the gangway and came towards them. He was tall and
slimly built, was dressed entirely in white, and wore a helmet of the
same colour upon his head. From an indescribable something about
him--it may possibly have been his graceful carriage or the drawl in
his voice when he spoke--he might very well have passed for a gentleman.
"Mr. Browne?" he began, lifting his hat, and, as he did so, looking
from one to another of the group.
"My name is Browne," said the young man, stepping forward. "What can I
do for you?"
"I should be glad if you would favour me with a few minutes' private
conversation," answered the other. "My business is important, but it
will not detain you very long."
"I can easily do that," replied Browne, and as he said it his guest of
the evening came forward to bid him good-bye.
"Must you really go?" Browne inquired.
"I am afraid I must," the other responded; "the boat has been alongside
for some considerable time, and to-morrow the homeward mail goes out,
and I have my letters to finish. I must thank you for a very jolly
evening. My only regret is that you are not staying longer in
Hong-kong. However, I hope we shall see you on the return voyage, when
you must let us entertain you, in a somewhat better fashion, than we
have been able to do to-day."
"I shall be delighted," said Browne as he shook hands; but in his own
heart he was reflecting that, when he did return that way, there would,
in all probability, be some one with him, who would exercise such
control over his time and amusements, that bachelor pleasures would be
out of the question. The man having taken his departure, Browne begged
his friends to excuse him for a few moments, and then passed down the
deck towards the tall individual, whom he could see waiting for him at
the saloon entrance. "Now, sir," he began, "if you wish to see me, I
am at your disposal."
"In that case, let us walk a little farther aft," replied the tall man.
"Let us find a place where we shall run no risks of being disturbed."
"This way, then," said Browne, and led him along the deck towards the
taffrail. He climbed up on to the rail, while his companion seated
himself on the stern grating. The light from the after-skylight fell
upon his face, and Browne saw that it was a countenance cast in a
singularly handsome mould. The features were sharp and clear cut, the
forehead broad, and the mouth and chin showing signs of considerable
determination. Taken altogether, it was the face of a man who, having
embarked upon a certain enterprise, would carry it through, or perish
in the attempt. Having lit a cigarette and thrown the match overboard,
he began to speak.
"It has been brought to my knowledge," he began, "that you are anxious
to carry out a certain delicate piece of business connected with an
island, a short distance to the north of Japan. Is that so?"
"Before you go any farther," continued Browne, "perhaps it would be as
well for you to say whether or not you come from Johann Schmidt."
"Johann Schmidt!" replied the other, with some little astonishment.
"Who the devil is he? I don't know that I ever heard of him."
It was Browne's turn this time to feel surprised. "I asked because I
understood that he was going to send some one to me this evening."
"That is very possible," MacAndrew answered; "but let me make it clear
to you that I know nothing whatsoever of him; in matters like this, Mr.
Browne, you will find it best to know nothing of anybody."
After this plain speech, Browne thought he had grasped the situation.
"We will presume, then, that you know nothing of our friend Johann," he
said. "Perhaps you have a plan worked out, and can tell me exactly
what I ought to do to effect the object I have in view."
"It is for that reason that I am here," resumed MacAndrew, with
business-like celerity, as he flicked the ash from his cigarette.
"I've got the plan fixed up, and I think I can tell you exactly how the
matter in question is going to be arranged. To begin with, I may as
well inform you that it is going to be an expensive business."
"Expense is no difficulty to me," replied Browne. "I am, of course,
quite prepared to pay a large sum, provided it is in reason, and I am
assured in my own mind, that the work will be carried out in a proper
manner. How much do you think it will cost me?"
"Five thousand pounds in good, solid English gold," answered MacAndrew;
"and what is more, the money must be paid down before I put my hand to
the job."
[Illustration: "Five thousand pounds in good, solid English gold."]
"But, pardon my alluding to it, what sort of a check am I going to have
upon you?" Browne next inquired. "How am I to know that you won't take
the money and clear out?"
"You've got to risk that," said MacAndrew calmly. "I see no other way
out of it. You must trust me absolutely; if you don't think you can,
say so, and I'll have nothing whatever to do with it. I won't make you
any promises, because that's not my way; but I fancy when the business
is finished you'll be satisfied."
"I hope so," returned Browne, with a smile. "But can you give me no
sort of guarantee at all?"
"I don't see that I can," muttered MacAndrew. "In cases like this a
guarantee is a thing which would be a very unmarketable commodity. In
other words, we don't keep them in stock."
"It's to be a case of my putting my money in the slot, then, and you do
the rest?"
"As the Yankees say," said the other, "I reckon that is so. No, Mr.
Browne, I'm very much afraid you must rest content with my bare word.
If you think I'm straight enough to pull you through, try me; if not,
as I said just now, have nothing more to do with me. I cannot speak
fairer than that, I think, and I shall now leave it to you to decide."
"Well, I must see your plan," continued Browne. "When I have done that
it is just possible that I may see my way to undertaking the business."
"The plan, then, by all means," replied the other, and, as he did so,
he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out an envelope, which he
handed to Browne. "Here it is. I have roughly sketched it all out for
you. You had better read it when you are alone in your cabin, and
after you have got it by heart be sure to burn it carefully. I wrote
it down in case I should not be able to see you, and also fearing, even
if I did have speech with you, I might not be able to say what I wanted
to, without being overheard. I will come off at daybreak to-morrow
morning for your answer. In the meantime you can think it over. Will
that suit you?"
"Admirably," said Browne. "I will let you know my decision then
without fail."
"In that case, good-night."
"Good-night. I shall expect you in the morning."
"In the morning."
A quarter of an hour later Browne was alone in his own cabin. Having
locked his door, he took the letter, the other had given him, from his
pocket and opened it. A half-sheet of note-paper, upon which scarcely
five hundred words were written, was all he found. But these words, he
knew, meant all the world to him. He read and re-read them, and, as
soon as he had got them by heart, lit a match and set fire to the
paper, which was reduced to ashes. Then he returned to the deck, where
Maas and Foote were still seated, and settled himself down for a chat.
They had not been there many minutes before Maas found, that he had
smoked the last cigar of a particular brand he affected, and rose to go
to his cabin in search of another. He had not been very long absent
before Browne remembered that he had left the envelope of MacAndrew's
letter on his dressing-table. Accordingly he set off in search of it,
intending to destroy it as he had done its contents. Having reached
the companion, he was descending to the saloon below, when a sound
resembling the careful, though hurried, closing of a door attracted his
attention. A moment later he stepped into the saloon, to find Maas
there, who, for once in his life, appeared to be flurried and put out
by something.
"I have lost my cigar-case, my dear Browne," he said, as if in
explanation. "Is it not annoying?"
Browne felt sure that this was not the truth. However, he did not say
so, but when he had condoled with him, entered his own cabin, where a
surprise was in store for him. The envelope he had come down to burn,
and which he distinctly remembered having placed upon the table less
than half an hour before, was missing. Some one had taken it!