"Mr. 'Ammer," and for a brief instant the American was all but awed by the look in the wide blue eyes, "I liked you, and I liked Mr. Harcourt, more than I like most men. If so be as you're bound to do it, then report the thing; but I says, wait. Just like that, Mr. 'Ammer—wait. I 'as me own ways of doing a thing up ship-shape, and I'm older than you be, Mr. 'Ammer, havin' learned a mortal lot in me day. I knows the authorities, Mr. 'Ammer, and I knows John Solomon, and I gives you me Bible oath that this 'ere Jenson answers to us for what 'e's been and done."
The eyes of the two men gripped and held for a long moment. Hammer, struck to the heart by the news of Harcourt as he was, a furious madness for revenge tearing at his brain, yet felt a curious impulse to obey this John Solomon.
All the obsequiousness of the latter had vanished, and in its place had come a quiet assurance, a steadiness, that could not but impress the American. More than this, even, did the next words of Sara Helmuth restrain him.
"Please, Mr. Hammer, don't be hasty in this affair. Believe me, I know a good deal more than I did that night in the launch, and when you know it, too, I think that you will agree fully with me. Beside, Mr. Harcourt is—is—the doctor said that he would not live more than a few hours longer."
Not until that moment did Hammer fully realize how dear his friend had become to him. It was to him an incredibly dreadful thing that after all he had passed through, after finding Harcourt, after coming to like and to be liked—that the gods had now snatched this gift from him, just when he was coming to most depend on the other man.
"My God!" he said under his breath, and dropped his head into his hands. "Harcourt dying!"
It was horrible; a thing almost beyond his comprehension. But, so deep down in his soul that even he did not realize it, was fear—fear that he would go back to what Harcourt had dragged him from—fear that the old terrible bitterness would sweep back over him and smother him. Suddenly he looked up, his face drawn and grey.
"You—last night you were singing!" he cried hoarsely, and his eyes shot accusation into the brown pitying gaze of Sara Helmuth. "What do you mean? Are you playing with me——"
"Be quiet!" Solomon's voice rang harsh and stern. "'Ow dare you, Mr. 'Ammer! I says this 'ere lady is an angel—why, dang it, sir, she 'asn't slept for two blessed nights, what o' watching wi' you and 'im! Yes, she was a singing, Mr. 'Ammer, 'cause Mr. Harcourt 'e thought she was 'is mother, 'e did, and wouldn't go——"
"Oh, stop it, stop it!" Hammer groaned, waving his hand in desperation. "I'm sorry, Miss Helmuth—I understand now. Take me to Harcourt, please."