"Jamaica? What do you mean?"
"What I wrote in that letter your master received before he died."
"Oh, you liar! I know the man who wrote it." Joe clenched his fists more tightly and swung forward. "You're a rank impostor, and I'll hand you over to the police, lest I smash you completely!"
Cicero saw he had made a mistake, but he did not flinch. Hardihood alone could carry him through now.
"Do," he said. "I'm particularly anxious to see the police, Mr. Joe Brill."
"Who are you, in Heaven's name?" shouted Joe, much agitated. "Do you come from him?"
"Perhaps I do," answered Cicero, wondering to whom the "him" might now refer.
"Then go back and tell him he's too late--too late, curse him! and you too, you lubber!"
"Very good." Cicero stepped out into the hot sunshine. "I'll deliver your message--for a sovereign."
Joe Brill tugged at his whiskers, and cast an uneasy glance around. Evidently, he was by no means astute, and the present situation was rather too much for him. His sole idea, for some reason best known to himself, was to get rid of Cicero. With a groan, he plunged his huge fist into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin.