He did not know how to appraise the distinction of his own manner and special attractiveness, and he was both amazed and amused to note how Mr. John Wray of Manchester, England, expanded under the compliment.
"I see, I see—I suppose this is even better than a letter, which might have been stolen, or transferred, or—however, or—shall we proceed to our commercial affairs?"
"I don't usually transact commercial affairs in my night-shirt," said Julius, "but if I look sufficiently businesslike to suit you—just fire away; it's all the same to me."
He was growing reckless. The risk involved in this war of words with the supposed detective was overwhelming his reserves. He did not know certainly of what the man suspected him, how fully informed he might have become. He knew it was imprudent to suggest his withdrawal, for the effort at escape might precipitate immediate arrest. Yet he could no longer spar back and forth.
"However," he said, as if with a second thought, "I should like a dabble of a bath, first, and to get on my duds, and to have a whack at breakfast, or dinner,—whichever is on parade by this time."
"Certainly—certainly—by all means. I will meet you in the hotel office, and shall we dine together at two?" He held out the dial of his watch.
"At two," assented Julius.
His friend was in such polite haste to be gone that he shuffled and plunged awkwardly on his gaitered feet, fairly stumbling over his portmanteau near the door as he opened it; then he went down the hall with a brisk, elastic step. Julius lay dumfounded, staring at the portmanteau, which was of an English make and bore the letters, J. Wray, Manchester, England, on one side. He rose and turned it about. It had not been hastily arranged to mislead him. The lettering had been done long ago. The receptacle was evidently travel-worn, and stamped deep in the bottom was the makers' name, trunk manufacturers, Manchester, England.
Julius dressed in haste, his heart once more agitated with the hope of deliverance. He could hardly control his nerves, his eager desire that this might prove merely an odd coincidence, instead of a detective's deep-laid scheme. It began to seem that the man's name might be really John Wray of Manchester, England, some army jobber, or speculator, perhaps—the country was full of them. He said he had expected to meet an "agent of the company," who knew the country.
"I know the country," said Julius, capably; "I know the country to a t-y ty. I can give him all the information he wants, free, gratis, and for nothing."