“My wife,” he said, “knows really very little of her native country; she has lived nearly all her life abroad.”
“So I perceived,” Mr. Sabin answered. “Shall we sit down a moment, Mr. Watson? One wearies so of this incessant promenading, and there is a little matter which I fancy that you and I might discuss with advantage.”
Mr. Watson obeyed in silence. This was a wonderful man with whom he had to deal. Already he felt that all the elaborate precautions of his coming had been wasted. He might be Mr. James B. Watson, the New York yacht owner and millionaire, to the captain and his seven passengers, but he was nothing of the sort to Mr. Sabin. He shrugged his shoulders, and followed him to a seat. After all silence was a safe card.
“I’m going,” Mr. Sabin said, “to be very frank with you. I know, of course, who you are.”
Mr. Watson shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you?” he remarked dryly.
Mr. Sabin bowed, with a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
“Certainly,” he answered, “you are Mr. James B. Watson of New York, and the lady with you is your wife. Now I want to tell you a little about myself.”
“Most interested, I’m sure,” Mr. Watson murmured.