“But,” he said courteously, “I suppose you find these coloured chaps just as good when they have once got into your ways?”
“Oh yes,” muttered Durnovo. He was reading the letter. “Maurice Gordon,” he continued, “says you are travelling for pleasure—just looking about you. What do you think of it?”
He indicated the dismal prospect with a harsh laugh.
“A bit suggestive of Hell,” he went on, “eh? How does it strike you?”
“Finer timber, I should think,” suggested Jack Meredith, and Durnovo laughed more pleasantly.
“The truth is,” he explained, “that it strikes one as a bit absurd that any man should travel up here for pleasure. If you take my advice you will come down-stream again with me to-morrow.”
He evidently distrusted him; and the sidelong, furtive glance suggested vaguely that Victor Durnovo had something farther up this river which he wished to keep concealed.
“I understand,” answered Meredith, with a half-suppressed yawn, “that the country gets finer farther up—more mountainous—less suggestive of—Hell.”
The proprietors of very dark eyes would do well to remember that it is dangerous to glance furtively to one side or the other. The attention of dark eyes is more easily felt than the glances of grey or blue orbs.
Jack Meredith's suspicions were aroused by the suspicious manner of his interlocutor.