“SAMUEL.
“P.S.—Do not forget the small account for disbursements.”
Da Souza folded up the letter, and a look of peace shone in his face. Presently he climbed the stairs to a little back-room and noiselessly unlocked the door. Monty, with pale face and bloodshot eyes, was walking up and down, mumbling to himself. He addressed Da Souza eagerly.
“I think I will go away now,” he said. “I am very much obliged to you for looking after me.”
Da Souza gazed at him with well-affected gravity. “One moment first,” he said, “didn't I understand you that you had just come from Africa?”
Monty nodded.
“The Gold Coast?”
Monty nodded again, but with less confidence.
“By any chance—were you called Monty there?”
Monty turned ghastly pale. Surely his last sin had not found him out. He was silent, but there was no need for speech. Da Souza motioned him to sit down.