“Wait here,” said the guide. “I will go and get you some supper.”
“And some brandy,” said Jasper.
“Of course.”
The bravo threw himself at length on one of the tables, and, closing his eyes, moaned. His vast strength had become acquainted with physical pain. In its stout knots and fibres, aches and sharp twinges, the dragon-teeth of which had been sown years ago in revels or brawls, which then seemed to bring but innocuous joy and easy triumph, now began to gnaw and grind. But when Cutts reappeared with coarse viands and the brandy bottle, Jasper shook off the sense of pain, as does a wounded wild beast that can still devour; and after regaling fast and ravenously, he emptied half the bottle at a draught, and felt himself restored and fresh.
“Shall you fling yourself amongst the swell fellows who hold their club here, General?” asked Cutts; “‘tis a bad trade; every year it gets worse. Or have you not some higher game in your eye?”
“I have higher game in my eye. One bird I marked down this very night. But that may be slow work, and uncertain. I have in this pocket-book a bank to draw upon meanwhile.”
“How? forged French billets de banque? dangerous.”
“Pooh! better than that,—letters which prove theft against a respectable rich man.”
“Ah, you expect hush-money?”
“Exactly so. I have good friends in London.”