The Reverend Hook wriggled, smiled furtively, and squirmed from under the Breton’s gaze.
“Well, here I am; diplomacy, mind you, diplomacy. Made up my mind to see you; see you I would—knew it would not be for long. I suppose you are next? But you know all about those caves and your knowledge must not be lost. That would never do. Heard you were more than a mile inside—my—my—— Now the first thing I want you to tell me——”
The Breton turned wearily away and sat down again on the steps of the altar.
“Am I hurting his feelings? Poor diplomacy, poor diplomacy,” muttered the Reverend Hook to himself.
“Well, I went down on the bund this morning,” he resumed cheerily, keeping his eye on the Breton. “It is all fenced except the waterside, and in the very spot—neither a foot more nor less—exactly where you used to stand—the very place where I gave you the maps to the Grotto—they have put up the crucifix. At the bottom are two black stones and a tub, but not a very big one. On the left, under a red silk canopy, are three chairs—don’t understand why there should be three. Just then a priest came along and said I had not been invited—think of that! French soldiers strutting up and down—French gunboats anchored along the waterfront. Now, I want to know who is doing this execution—Frenchmen or Chinese? You know I am a good friend of yours—or I would never have given you those secrets of the Dragon Grotto,—but I want to say that these Catholic priests are trying to run this country. I went over to our Consul. He just swore. He said if he were God—he is a blasphemous wretch—he would invent something new in hell for these priests. Kept getting madder and madder, then he grabbed me by the collar and threw me out of the door. That crazy Consul has the Mission-phobia—but he won’t last. He can’t mistreat an American Methodist missionary with impunity; let me coax you. What have I got to do with this business on the bund? I gave you the secrets of the Grotto, but how did I know that all this was going to happen?”
For some moments the Reverend Hook became contemplative, then he began to shake his head.
“Terrible, terrible, so young, so beautiful, so beautiful, so beautiful—and I will never see her, and all those others will. And they will take off her clothes. Oh, oh, oh.”
His breath and words failed him. He pattered back and forth before the altar in little restless strides.
The Breton sat bowed upon the altar steps.
“Why don’t those countries with gunboats stop it! Why don’t they stop it!” he cried shrilly, never ceasing his nervous patter, and casting hurried glances at the priest as he repassed the altar steps.