Long Live the King, Guy Boothby [red queen ebook TXT] 📗

he had arranged together, that the former should not be in the room when they arrived. He was to drop in half an hour or so later, as if by chance, and then to appear annoyed at finding them there. When he did so, Moreas greeted him with well-simulated surprise. The others stared at the intruder, as if they scarcely knew what to make of him, and then at Moreas, as if they were suspicious of his action in the matter. On his part Max studied them with equal interest. The taller of the trio was an Englishman, possibly thirty-five years of age, who boasted a frank and extremely pleasing countenance. His name was Bertram, and, as Max discovered later, he had occupied a good position in the world, from which he had fallen, more by his own folly than on account of any material wrong-doing. The other two were unmistakably Spaniards. The name of one was Diego Pereira, that of the other Antonio Rodriguez. Neither of them were particularly pleasant-looking fellows, and Max wondered as he looked at them what it was that had made the Englishman associate with them.

At the moment Max entered, the two Spaniards were talking vociferously. From what he could catch of their conversation it appeared that they were extremely dissatisfied with something Moreas had done, and desired to make trouble out of it if only such a thing were possible. Their grievance eventually proved to be his own importation into the affair, of which Moreas had been telling them.

"But what can I do?" the latter asked snappishly. "He swears that he will come with us, and how am I to prevent him?"

"As it appears that I am the subject of your conversation," said Max coolly, seating himself on the table, "perhaps I may be permitted to say a word. Let me inform you, therefore, once and for all, that it is not a bit of use Moreas or anybody else trying to keep me out of the business. I know all the ins and outs of it, and, I tell you plainly, our friend here doesn't leave Rio without me. You can buy me off if you're willing to pay my price, but, I give you fair warning, it will be a stiff one. Otherwise, I go. Take your choice."

"What did I tell you?" said Moreas angrily to the others. "I wish to goodness you were all at the bottom of the sea."

"That is very likely," returned Max. "But as we're not, you've got to give yourself the pleasure of our society. Has anyone else any objection to raise?"

He looked round at the assembled company. His coolness had evidently impressed them.

"If you are determined to go, and Moreas is willing to give half of his share to you, I don't know that anything more need be said," observed the Englishman. "Personally, I think it's a pity to bring a fifth person in; but, as he says, it is his affair, not ours. I'll give you one piece of advice, however, if you are coming; don't try to play any tricks with us."

"Or with me," put in Moreas sulkily. "If you do, you'll find yourself in the wrong box. By the time I've paid all of you your shares there will be nothing left for myself. I only hope nothing will go wrong."

"It had better not," answered Max. "At least, so far as you are concerned. You know me, I think, and I know you."

Moreas instinctively thought of the game of cards they had played together on the _Diamintina_, and of the pistol practice that had followed it. Was Max's speech only a part of the game of bluff they were both playing, or was it really intended as a warning to himself? A look of real apprehension flashed across his face. The Englishman observed it, and, if he had entertained suspicions before as to their complicity in the affair, this effectually dispersed them. They thereupon proceeded to make the final arrangements for the journey. A rendezvous was agreed upon for the following morning, and, this done, Max rose to take his leave.

"Adeos, Senors," he said, bowing to them with graceful insolence. "I have the honour to bid you farewell until to-morrow."

Then he left the room and went downstairs. But he did not leave the neighbourhood. According to the plan they had arranged, he took up his position in a dark corner of the street until he had seen the others depart. Then he returned to the house and rejoined Moreas.

"You played your part extremely well," said the latter patronisingly. "It's a long time since I witnessed a prettier bit of acting than when you told me I had better see that nothing went wrong while we were away."

"Don't be too sure it was all acting," replied Max quietly. "You have brought me into it to look after _your_ interests; but I fancy you'll agree with me that a man's first duty, in affairs like this at any rate, is to look after his own."

Moreas tried to laugh unconcernedly, but the result was a comparative failure.


CHAPTER XV.


To attempt a detailed description of Max's wanderings for the next few months would, even with the help of his diary, prove, I fear, a task altogether beyond my abilities. On the morning following the interview I have just described as taking place at Moreas' house, they embarked upon the train at a wayside station, a few miles out of Rio, and remained in it until they had proceeded as far as it was possible for the line to take them. Having reached the end of the construction, they alighted at a miserable village consisting of some twenty or thirty houses of the typical Brazilian type, and collected their impedimenta. Such stores and equipments as they intended carrying with them had already arrived, as also had the mules which had been purchased for the journey. Moreas, by virtue of being the only person who knew the secret, was duly installed as leader of the expedition; and, seeing that the day was too far advanced for them to make a start, he decided on remaining in the village that night, and proceeding as soon as it was light next morning. Being anxious to obtain as much information as possible concerning the track they were to follow for the next hundred miles, Moreas invited certain of the leading inhabitants to sup with them that night. This gave rise to a regular orgie. By midnight Moreas was decidedly intoxicated, while the two Spaniards were incapable of even sitting upright, so were stretched at full length upon the floor. Disgusted beyond measure with what he saw, Max left the room and passed into the verandah. There he found the Englishman, Bertram, smoking a cigar. He had taken a liking to the man, and cherished a belief that the feeling was reciprocated. "So you have had enough of it, too," said the latter as Max approached. "I couldn't stand any more of it, so I came out here."

"My case is very similar," answered Max. "It's a good thing this sort of thing is not likely to occur very often."

"I agree with you," returned the other. "Moreas and the Spaniards are very well when they are sober, but when they are drunk they are altogether impossible. Forgive me asking the question, but have you known Moreas very long?"

"A matter of two years," Max replied. "I met him first on the steamer that brought me out from England."

"Ah! I was right then," said Bertram, in a somewhat kindlier tone than he had yet spoken. "I felt certain that you were an Englishman when I saw you yesterday; and yet, do you know, if you don't mind my saying so, you don't altogether look like one."

"I'm not," said Max. "By birth I am a Pannonian, but I have lived in England since I was quite a youngster. You, of course, are English. There can be no sort of doubt about that."

"Am I so dreadfully insular, then?" the other inquired with a laugh. "I thought the knocking about the world I have had would have rubbed the edges off. Yes, I am an Englishman, I suppose, if ever there was one. I hail from Gainsthorpe, in Yorkshire. Do you happen to know the place?"

"I should think so," said Max, with sudden animation. "I've stayed there often."

After that they were both silent. The simple fact that they both happened to be acquainted with the same obscure village struck them as a marvellous coincidence; after a time, however, it became a bond that bound them very closely together. Later on, for some reason not altogether explainable, they left England, and talked of Brazil and life in South America generally. Of the subject upon which they were for the time being engaged they said nothing. They did not know each other particularly well yet, and both felt it would be safer to let it alone. Presently Moreas staggered into the verandah, stared wildly about him for a few seconds, as if he were looking for some one, and then reeled towards them.

"Come, come, Senors," he said with a hiccup, "I don't call this sociable at all. Here we are enjoying ourselves in the room yonder, and you keep away from us as if you don't desire our company. It isn't the sort of thing to make us friendly."

He seized Max by the arm, and attempted to lead him in the direction of the door, but the other shook him off.

"You must excuse me," he said. "I don't feel up to it to-night. Besides, if the noise you are making is any criterion, you are getting along well enough without us."

The other's mood had changed by this time. He turned and faced them, supporting himself by the verandah rails.

"I suppose you don't want to offend me on the first evening of this mem--mem--(_hic_) memorable journey?" he said.

"I have not the least desire to offend you," Max retorted. "Nevertheless, I am not coming in. It is useless for you to ask me."

Moreas thereupon transferred his attentions to Bertram, who proved equally intractable.

"Very well," he said at last, when he had tried to arrive at a proper understanding of the position; "if you won't come I suppose you won't, so I'll go myself, and leave you to conspire against me in peace."

With that he took himself off, and the two men were left to construe his last speech according to their inclinations.

"That is a cur who will require some watching," said Bertram, when they were alone once more together. "Thank goodness, however, I'm up to most of his tricks."

Max offered no reply to this remark. Angry as he was with Moreas, he felt that he himself was in an invidious position. To all intents and purpose he was the other's servant, and an innate feeling of loyalty, to however unworthy a master, kept him silent.

"If we are to be up as early to-morrow morning as we arranged had we not better begin to think about bed?" said Max at last.

"Perhaps we had. But I am rather afraid the others will not be in a condition after their carouse to-night to travel as soon as we imagine. However, if you are tired, by all means let us turn in."

They walked towards the door. Suddenly Bertram stopped, and, with a little hesitation, addressed his companion once more.

"I want to ask you," he said, "whether you have any objection to telling me the name of