Stromboli lit his large pipe meditatively.
"The creditors! Precisely. That is the weak point in my position. The great happiness of having money to spend caused me to forget them. Nevertheless, they still exist, and now that the money is gone they write, recalling themselves to my recollection. It is unfortunate. For it seems that, even in this free country of yours, the law gives them the power to make themselves unpleasant."
I assented, and tried to explain to him the exact nature of a judgment summons, and a committal order. Then I continued—
"But you know other stories, I suppose?"
Stromboli banged the table and made the glasses ring, as he answered, half in derision, half in indignation—
"If I know other stories! He asks if I know other stories. When I tell you that I—moi qui vous parle—have lain under sentence of death in a Spanish prison at Santiago de Cuba, and escaped from it under circumstances which will not occur again——"
"That sounds all right," I interrupted.
"You really think so?"
"I am quite sure of it."
"Then I must make haste. The letters of the creditors begin, 'Unless——' There is evidently no time to be lost."