IV
James Hornett was less changed than his old employer, but it was evident that he too had fallen upon evil times. For a mere second the familiar tones of his voice were no more than familiar to Bommaney, whose mind was confused by long misery and hunger and sleeplessness, and the shock of his late encounter. But when he turned and saw Hornett’s long thumb and finger scraping at his stubbly jaws, the gesture and the attitude of apology brought him back to mind at once. Hornett’s coat sleeve was torn, and showed his arm half way down to the elbow, but revealed no hint of linen, The collar of his frock-coat was buttoned tightly about his neck, and there was a sparkling metallic rime upon his cheeks and chin and upper lip. Bommaney was ashamed before him, and afraid of him, and only some faint reminder of self-respect and the pride of earlier days held him back from the impulse to run away.
‘You’re not afraid of me, sir?’ said James Hornett. He had always smiled, and was smiling even now. The smile was no more than a contortion of the muscles of the face, which made a long mirthless crease on either cheek, and left the eyes untouched by the least light of sympathy. It gave him a propitiatory dog-like look, and there was a hint of fawning in his attitude which matched it perfectly and carried out the likeness. ‘You remember me, sir?’ he went on, for Bommaney stared at him so wildly that there seemed room for reasonable doubt on that point. ‘Hornett, sir. James Hornett Your faithful servant for thirty years, sir.’ Bommaney looked at him with haggard watering eyes, and said nothing as yet ‘It’s a bit of a surprise, sir, at first, isn’t it?’ Hornett went on, with his unchanging smile. There was a good deal of hunger and even triumph in his small soul, but they found no other outward expression, and his attitude and voice were as apologetic and retiring as of old. ‘It was rather a surprise to me, sir, when I recognised you. Isn’t it a little dangerous for you to be here, Mr. Bommaney?’
They both started, and each looked about him at this mention of the fugitive’s name.
‘Hush!’ said Bommaney. ‘Don’t call me by that name. Come away from here.’
A policeman strolled along the street, with an echoing tread, and as the two slunk past him he turned a casual glance upon them. The glance touched them like a galvanic shock, and they would have run if they had had courage for such an indiscretion.
‘What do you want with me?’ asked Bommaney, when the policeman was out of sight and hearing; Hornett walking beside him, with his lean, propitiatory fingers at his chin, looked up with hesitating meekness.
‘Well, you see, sir,’ he responded, ‘your fall was mine, sir; I was supposed’—he coughed behind his hand here to indicate apology for the introduction of a theme so necessarily disagreeable to the other’s feelings—’ I was supposed, sir, to have been in your confidence. I made many applications for employment, and nobody would employ me. Young Mr. Weatherall, sir, promised, personally, that if I called again, he’d kick me down the steps.’
Bommaney groaned.