They had no difficulty in finding Mr. Fogg. He was in front of the fire in the office of the Nicholas, toasting his back and warming his slowly fanning palms, and talking to a group of men.
He affected non-recognition of Mayo when the young man asked, brusquely, if he might see him in private.
“Certainly, sir. And your friend?”
“Yes.”
The stranger, following up the stairs with Mayo, nudged his companion.
“He's a wonder! 'And your friend?'” he quoted with a chuckle. “No coarse work about that!”
Mayo had firmly decided in his mind that his present business was the only matter he would discuss with Fletcher Fogg. Even though the just wrath of an innocent man, ruined and persecuted, prompted him to assail this smug trickster with tongue, and even with fists, he bound himself by mental promise to wait until he had proofs other than vague words and his own convictions.
“And now—” invited Fogg, when he had closed the door of his room, waiting tmtil his callers had entered.
“Yes, now!” blurted Captain Mayo. “Not then, Mr. Fogg! We'll have that settled later, when I make you pay for what you did to me. This man here, you know him, of course! He tried to dynamite the Conomo. I caught him in the act. He is your man. He has made his boasts that he would be protected.”
Mr. Fogg turned a cold stare upon the man's appreciative grin.