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Page 82
"Yes."
"And be sure to take an empty carriage to carry canned food and bottled
water," supplemented Cathewe. "The native food is frightful. The
first time I took the journey I was ignorant. Happily it was in the
autumn, when the chestnuts were ripe. Otherwise I should have starved."
"And you spent a winter or spring here, Hildegarde?" said Mrs.
Coldfield.
"It was lovely then." There was a dream in Hildegarde's eyes.
The hotel omnibus was out of service, and they rode up in carriages.
The season was over, and under ordinary circumstances the hotel would
have been closed. A certain royal family had not yet left, and this
fact made the arrangements possible. It was now very warm. 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.
Now it came about that Captain Flanagan, who had not left the ship once
during the journey, found his one foot aching for a touch and feel of
the land. So he and Holleran, the chief-engineer, came ashore a little
before noon and decided to have a bite of maccaroni under the shade of
the palms in the _Place des Palmiers_. A bottle of warm beer was
divided between them. The captain said Faugh! as he drank it.
"Try th' native wine, Capt'n," suggested the chief-engineer.
"I have a picture of Cap'n Flanagan drinkin' the misnamed vinegar. No
Dago's bare fut on the top o' mine, when I'm takin' a glass. An'
that's th' way they make ut. This Napoleyun wus a fine man. He pushed
'em round some."
"Sure, he had Irish blood in 'im, somewheres," Holleran assented. "But
I say," suddenly stretching his lean neck, "will ye look t' see who's
comin' along!"
Flanagan stared. "If ut ain't that son-of-a-gun ov a Picard, I'll eat
my hat!" The captain grew purple. "An' leavin' th' ship without
orders!"
"An' the togs!" murmured Holleran.
"Watch me!" said Flanagan, rising and squaring his peg.
Picard, arrayed in clean white flannels, white shoes, a panama set
rakishly on his handsome head, his fingers twirling a cane, came
head-on into the storm. The very jauntiness of his stride was as a red
rag to the captain. So then, a hand, heavy and charged with righteous
anger, descended upon Picard's shoulder.
"Right about face an' back to th' ship, fast as yer legs c'n make ut!"
Picard calmly shook off the hand, and, adding a vigorous push which
sent the captain staggering among the little iron-tables, proceeded
nonchalantly. Holleran leaped to his feet, but there was a glitter in
Picard's eye that did not promise well for any rough-and-tumble fight.
Picard's muscular shoulders moved off toward the vanishing point.
Holleran turned to the captain, and with the assistance of a waiter,
the two righted the old man.
"Do you speak English?" roared the old sailor.
"Yes, sir," respectfully.
"Who wus that?"
The waiter, in reverent tones, declared that the gentleman referred to
was well known in Ajaccio, that he had spent the previous winter there,
and that he was no less a person than the Duke of--But the waiter never
completed the sentence. The title was enough for the irascible
Flanagan.
"Th'--hell--he--is!" The captain subsided into the nearest chair,
bereft of future speech, which is a deal of emphasis to put on the
phrase. Picard, a duke, and only that morning his hands had been
yellow with the stains of the donkey-engine oil! And by and by the
question set alive his benumbed brain; what was a duke doing on the
yacht _Laura_? "Holleran, we go t' the commodore. The devil's t' pay.
What's a dook doin' on th' ship, and we expectin' to dig up gold in
yonder mountains? Look alive, man; they's villany afoot!"
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