‘Oh!’ said Volnay, ‘I ain’t curious, old chap. I’m not a bit curious; but if you can do it, I should like you to take me into your confidence, because I might be of some use. I’m stinking rich, you know—disgracefully rich. And if that fact’s any good to you, why you’ve only to say so, and I’m your man.’
‘Oh, no, it isn’t money, Volnay. If it had been, I shouldn’t have made any scruple about saying so. I can’t talk about it. It’s likely enough that you may hear everything in time.’
‘There’s no changing you?’ Volnay asked. ‘There’s no getting you to wait for a week?’
‘There’s no changing me,’ Polson answered, ‘and no getting me to wait.’
‘Oh, very well,’ said Volnay. ‘Just take that and cut across to the canteen and get some breakfast. Come back here in a quarter of an hour’s time, and I’ll put you through. You needn’t scruple about taking it: you can pay me back, for there’s a five-pound bounty, ready money, declared yesterday, and you’ll have it handed over to you on enlisting.’
Polson took up the proffered sovereign, with something of a lump in his throat, and turned to go. He had scarce made a step towards the door when it opened suddenly. This was destined to be a day of strange encounters, for who should walk almost into his arms but that Major de Blacquaire who was the present owner of the Droitwich salt mine from which his father and his uncle had drawn an illicit fortune. There are men who are born to hate each other at sight; and this Major de Blacquaire and Polson, though they had but a slight knowledge of each other, had found time to develop a savage dislike on either side. De Blacquaire was a man with an exasperatingly cold and supercilious fashion of speech. He was a band-box dandy, and went scented like a lady. Polson had once threatened him with a horse-whip, and the Major had withdrawn from the conflict not because he had any want of physical courage, but solely because he was too much of a fine gentleman to brawl. He had never forgotten or forgiven the insult, and Polson had learned to hate him all the more because he mistook him for a coward. The two recoiled from each other just in time to avoid collision, for De Blacquaire had entered hastily. They regarded each other for an instant, and De Blacquaire’s cynical and contemptuous gaze took in the other from head to foot, obviously taking note of the mean attire and the signs of the night march Polson had made. His glance fastened on the bunch of ribbons floating from the cap, and at that he smiled.
‘Oh!’ he said, with a finicking drawl. ‘You’ve made a bolt of it, have you?’
‘Say that again,’ said Polson, ‘and I’ll ram it down your throat, and send a tooth or two along with it.’
‘Indeed,’ said De Blacquaire. ‘I think you’ll find that it won’t pay you to use such language in your present position, Private Jervase.’ He turned away and, with the whip he carried in his hand, struck a resounding blow upon the open door. ‘Sergeant!’ he called, ‘bring up a file of men, and take this man to the guardroom.’
‘On what authority, if you please?’ asked Polson.