Oh, as to that, it was to be regretted, but it was not known. Tiens, no! The young man had gone so quickly.
Ben, seeing there was no more to be learned there, thanked his informant gruffly, and like an annoyed bear set off once again on his search, grumbling audibly at himself and the inadequacy of the information he had received.
Now what could have caused Mr. Dare to run from the shop like that? Something interesting, belike. Or it may have been no more than a dog fight or a fight between street boys, which was much the same thing, seen from the shop window. In any event the fight, or whatever it was that had had him out of the place so quickly, was long over now. That was no explanation of his failure to turn up at three o'clock. But had he failed to turn up? How did he, Ben, know? He didn't know and he had to admit it.
He crossed the square in a humour which was a mixture of chagrin and anxiety, though as yet he could not very well see in what there was cause for the latter. It was broad daylight, and St. Pierre wasn't Port Said by any means; and a boy ought to be as safe on its streets as in St. John's. Still, there was no denying that there were more facilities for trouble in the French town for a venturesome lad, and Mr. Dare was all of that.
He returned to the quay and took a look at the Nancy in case Dare had returned, but the boy was still missing. Ben bethought him then of their intention to visit Giraud. What more likely than that Dare, not finding him waiting on the quay, had gone on to Giraud's alone? The boy might be there even now, still waiting for him.
At this thought Ben's mood lightened and he set out for Giraud's in the hope of reaching it before the store closed.
It was a comparatively easy matter to find one's way to Giraud's. Giraud had seen to that. From the harbour one could see the towering sign on his store, and once on shore, there was always to be seen round some corner or other, the one word, Giraud's.
The premises were next the dry dock on the opposite side of the waterfront. Dark, dingy, huge, lacking paint and adequate windows, the place was impressive only because of the vast quantities of merchandise it stored.
Huge butts of rum and brandy, seven feet in diameter, nearly all on tap, lay in the darkest regions. Piles of rope, mountains of paint tins, great anchors, barrels of tar, ochre, bales of oakum, etc., filled another section, and still another part of the premises was given up to lighter articles such as soap, tobacco, ship's biscuit, cheese, and margarine. All these commodities, each with a distinctive odour, gave the place an atmosphere indescribable. It was too strong to be attractive to most people, yet to some it was very pleasing, none the less.
Ben, who was not over delicate in such matters, wrinkled his nose in appreciation as he entered the store.