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Updated: June 4, 2025
This other gentleman and I" I waved a hand at Follet, who stood, spent and silent, beside me "resented it. We thought we would follow him up." How much Ching Po understood of plain English, I do not know. One always conversed with him in the pidgin variety. But he certainly looked at peace with the world: much as the devil must have looked, gazing at Pompeii in the year '79.
My proposition was accepted, and the matter was communicated to Follet, who swore many strange oaths, and would have resisted, but he found that it was useless; and to add to his terror, Rover sat within a few feet of him, displaying his ivories, and ready to avenge his affront upon the first symptom of hostility.
"I will wager a hundred ounces that Follet put the knife in the barrel when he visited the store this morning," cried the inspector, dogmatically. "Did you sell a knife of this pattern to Mr. Follet?" asked Sherwin, turning to us. Mr. Brown seemed to take fresh courage at the question, and we could see that he was anxious for us to answer in the affirmative.
Follet laughed and took another cigarette. "We do very well as we are, I think. And I expect to go to Auckland next year." His voice trailed off fatuously in a cloud of smoke, and I knew then just why I disliked him. The fibre was rotten. You couldn't even hang yourself with it. I was destined to keep open house that day.
A darned sight too good to go native " Then I stopped, for Follet was hardly himself, nor did I like the look of myself as a common scold. We did not find Stires, and after an hour or two we gave up the search. By dusk, Follet had got to the breaking-point. He was jumpy. I took him back myself to the hotel, and pushed him viciously into Ching Po's arms.
She told, too, of the feu follet, or will-o'-the-wisp, that led a girl on Grosse Isle to the swamp where her lover was engulfed in mire and enabled her to rescue him.
Critchet, and found that he was positive that the man who had wronged him so basely was in our power, and we had too great confidence in the judgment of the old gentleman to believe that he would tell a lie, or endeavor to deceive us in the premises. "How old was young Follet when his father left London?" Fred asked of Mr. Critchet. "About sixteen," was the answer.
Then he unleashed his supple body and was half way to the gate in a single arrow flight. I followed, carrying the pistol still in my hand. My involuntary haste must have made me seem to brandish it. I heard a perfectly civilized scream from Madame Maür, receding into the background which shows that I was, myself, acquiring full speed ahead. By the time Follet reached the gate, Ching Po moved.
"Well, Mr. Follet belongs here. I can have it out with him any time. He'll have to play the game. But if I know Schneider, there's no wedding bells in his. And Mam'selle Eva hasn't, as you might say, got a chaperon."
As she had opened the town of Porto Ferrajo several minutes before she was herself seen from the Feu Follet, an ensign was hanging from the end of her gaff, though there was not sufficient air to open its folds, in a way to let the national character of the stranger be known.
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