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Updated: June 29, 2025
It would not be human for him to surrender any part of the treasure without making some kind of a fight for it, cunning or desperate. If only the women-folk remained on board! Breitmann gazed toward the town motionless. It was difficult for Fitzgerald not to tell the great secret then and there; but his caution whispered warningly.
Dust lay everywhere, on the huge palms, on the withered plants, on the chairs and railings, and swam palpable in the air. Breitmann was nowhere to be found, but he had seen the manager of the hotel and secured rooms facing the bay. Later, perhaps two hours after the arrival, he appeared. In this short time he had completed his plans. As he viewed them he could see no flaw.
Fitzgerald smiled a little. "But you may rest your mind. I never break my word." "Nor do I, my friend. Have patience. Satan take these small boats!" He stifled a groan. "A little champagne?" "Nothing, nothing; thank you." "As you will. Good night." Fitzgerald shut the door and returned to the smoking-room. Something or other, concerning Breitmann; he was sure of it.
Only a phrase or two could be heard distinctly. But words were not necessary. What he desired above all things was a glimpse of this Frenchman's face. After several minutes Breitmann went aft. M. Ferraud stepped out cautiously, and luck was with him. The sailor to whom Breitmann had spoken so earnestly was lolling against the rail, in the act of lighting a cigarette.
"My question first." "I choose not to answer it." Again they eyed each other like fencers. "Were you married?" Breitmann laughed. Here was his opportunity to wring this man's heart; for he knew that Cathewe loved the woman. "You seem to be in her confidence. Ask her." "A poltroon would say as much. There is a phase in your make-up I have never fully understood.
He opened his eyes and smiled at her; feebly. The, stout woman, who had been looking on with that intensity of sympathy of which the poor are capable, began waving gently the palm-leaf fan. She was German. "He is so good, is Dicky. He smile at me when I fan him once, twice. He complains not at all." The mother took the fan from her, hand. "Thank you for staying with him, Mrs. Breitmann.
But I'm crazy to learn what he is looking for. Double your coat over your white shirt." Breitmann was already proceeding with this task. A dog-trot brought them into the roadway, but they kept to the grass. They were within a yard of the stable doors when a hound began bellowing. Breitmann smothered a laugh and Fitzgerald a curse.
This long time Breitmann had despatched his letters and gone to his room, where he remained till dinner. He was a servant in the house. He must not forget that. He had been worse things than this, and still he had not forgotten. He had felt the blush of shame, yet he had remembered, and white anger had embossed the dull scars; it was impossible that he should forget.
Breitmann laughed, but this time without bitterness. "It is a harmless hobby," rather resenting Breitmann's tone. "More than that," quickly; "it is philanthropic, since it will employ me for some length of time." "When do they expect you?" "At half-after ten." "We'll go up together, then. Did you see the admiral's daughter?" "A daughter? Has he one?"
Suddenly Breitmann fell upon his knees and laughed hysterically, plunged his blistered hands into the shining heap. It played through his fingers in little musical cascades. He rose. "Pietro, you have been faithful to me. Put your two hands in there." "I, padrone?" stupefied. "Go on! Go on! As much as your two hands can hold is yours. Dig them in deep, man, dig them in deep!"
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