Dan Markel lit a fresh cigar and handed the box to his visitor. “We must think of some scheme,” he said, slowly. “Ah, I have it. Write a note saying that you have met some old friends and won’t be back.”
“But he’ll want to know about the friends to-morrow.”
“Will he? Then state they are about to sail—anything to smooth it over. He can’t expect you to tie fast to his coat-tails all the time, you know. You’re too big for that.”
“To be sure I’m too big,” blustered Hockley, lighting one of the cigars and making an attempt to enjoy it. “Let me have some paper and I’ll send the note.”
Paper was produced and also a pencil, and soon the note was finished and given to one of the boys outside to deliver. Of course the message was a complete falsehood, yet it did not appear to trouble Hockley’s conscience.
“Now what shall we do first?” asked the youth, after Markel had taken another drink from the bottle.
“When are the others going to start for that plantation?”
“They are starting about now,” answered Hockley, after consulting his watch.
“What time have you?”
“Half-past five.”