“I hope I do better this time, Mr. Manfred,” said Digby, turning to go. “And, if you don’t mind, I’ll go by day and take a look at the place. I don’t want to fall down this time!”
George smiled as he rose and shook the man’s hand at parting.
“Even Mr. Gonsalez makes mistakes,” he said maliciously, and Leon looked hurt.
Manfred tidied some papers on his desk and put them into a drawer, waiting for Poiccart’s return. When he had come:
“Now, Mr. Washington, we will tell you what we wish you to do. We wish you to take a letter to Lisbon. Leon has probably hinted something to that effect, and it is now my duty to tell you that the errand is pretty certain to be an exceedingly dangerous one, but you are the only man I know to whom I could entrust this important document. I feel I cannot allow you to undertake this mission without telling you that the chances are heavily against your reaching Portugal.”
“Bless you for those cheerful words,” said Washington blankly. “The only thing I want to be certain about is, am I likely to meet Mr. Snake?”
Manfred nodded, and the American’s face lengthened.
“I don’t know that even that scares me,” he said at last, “especially now that I know that the dope they use isn’t honest snake-spit at all but a synthesized poison. It was having my confidence shaken in snakes that rattled me. When do you want me to go?”
“To-night.”
Mr. Washington for the moment was perplexed, and Manfred continued: