"Quite," Max answered. "If I had nothing else to do, I'd go with you to-morrow; but, situated as I am, wild horses would not shift me."
"Well, bear the fact in mind that I shall be back in a month," said Moreas. "And also that the address I have already given you will find me. Farewell, Señor."
"Farewell, and bon voyage to you," replied Max.
Then, with a wave of their hands, they parted, and Max continued his way towards the office for which he had been making when he had met Moreas.
He had been spending the greater portion of the day superintending the removal of some cargo on board a ship in the harbour, and, towards evening, made his way ashore again to meet Brockford. Leaving the landing-stage, he proceeded up the street till he reached the Rua Direita. As he crossed the road he came within an ace of being knocked down by a cab, which was coming at a swift pace towards him. He looked up, as if to expostulate with the driver, and then, as suddenly, turned and fled. Had anyone been near enough to see, he would have told you that his face was deathly pale, and that, when he reached the pavement, he trembled like a man with the palsy. For the person in the cab was myself, his brother Paul!
And yet, by some unhappy chance, I did not see him.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, when he had partially recovered. "Paul is searching for me. What am I to do now?"
CHAPTER XI.
In order to make my narrative more clear to you, it is necessary that I should hark back for a short distance and give you an account of my own doings, from the time Max left us up to that never-to-be-forgotten day, when I received the information that he was in Brazil.