“‘Perhaps it will do her no harm,’ said he. ‘She is strong as a young donkey, and it may be well for her to lick the paint off her toy.’
“You see, Doctor, he did not love this woman in any sense, conjugal or paternal. He was grieved at her loss, as one might be at the loss of a pretty and interesting pet—a Persian cat—and he was determined to get her back, no matter how large the reward he was compelled to offer. When he got her he might confine, but not punish her. Stewart really was far the more practical of the two.
“Early the following morning we reached Zamboanga, and hardly had the anchor splashed when a boat from the shore shot alongside, and, to my utter amazement whom should I see in the stern but Stewart himself.
“The Count, who was below, sent word asking him to descend, which he did, with a curt salutation to me. He was a blackguard of direct methods, was Stewart, employing the weight of his vitality to project his purpose and driving it to the mark with sheer physical force; with him logic filled the place of imagination.
“He entered that cabin and confronted the outraged husband precisely as if their relative situations had been reversed—certainly a cool hand, utterly fearless and indifferent to possible redress.
“The Count regarded him mildly. I was amazed at his composure.
“‘I suppose you are looking for your wife,’ said Stewart, bluntly.
“‘Monsieur is correct,’ replied the Count, politely, but I saw a shadow cross his face. It was evident that his sensitive nature found the other’s manner offensive.
“‘Then I’ll fetch her back,’ said Stewart. ‘She won’t come without.’
“‘I am pained,’ murmured the Count, gently, but I could see the pupils of his reddish-brown eyes dilate. One could not conceive of the man in a rage; yet he looked quietly dangerous. ‘Is it that the Countess fears my anger—my reproaches?’ His grizzled eyebrows were lifted in concern.