"Why?" asked Anthony.
"Well, any man who knows Weir properly—and Tarrant does, for he once sailed under him—would not care to measure skill with him in a struggle. Tarrant is a swift, courageous blade, and like a whip for giving offense or taking it. But Weir is of another kind. He has something in him," and Whitaker shook his head, "that most rufflers, no matter how desperate, fear."
Not a great while after Anthony and Whitaker had left the Crooked Billet, Monsieur Lafargue and his daughter, in the private supper-room, off at one side, also stood up to go. Tarrant, now recovered from his rage, was beside them; and the big young man smiled good-humoredly in the background.
"I am greatly in your debt, sir," said Monsieur Lafargue, to Tarrant. "You have shown yourself a friend, at a time when a friend was greatly needed."
"Sir," said Tarrant smoothly, "I am glad to have been of service to you, and to mademoiselle. For no gentleman could have witnessed what I have witnessed in your affairs and not come forward. I saw you about to fall in the hands of Anthony Stevens, the most subtle of double-dealers, and of course," with a gesture, "I had to do what I could to prevent it."
"But, sir," and it was the girl who spoke, "are you quite sure of all you say?"
"Mademoiselle," said Tarrant, "what I have stated is a very grave thing; and so, before saying it, I considered it very carefully. As your father will tell you, the house of Rufus Stevens' Sons has long been engaged in commercial practice which cannot be sanctioned by honest men; things have been done with insurance, and with merchant moneys adventured in their care, which no one of shrewdness can overlook. Is not your father's money in some of the dealings of this house? Has he not persuaded his friends at Brest to venture theirs?"
"That last," said the old Frenchman, "is the worst of it." He shook his head, and his hand gestured helplessly. "If loss comes, I will never forgive myself."
"There was another who had risked his money, one who knew how your father was situated with the firm, one who wrote him a letter," said Tarrant, still addressing the girl. "I refer to Magruder. He saw how matters were going with the house and feared the result. Magruder somehow knew—he was a cunning, ratty kind of a man, who knew many things he was not credited with—that your father had moneys involved, and so wrote him a letter of warning. Is it not so? It was this letter that brought you and your father to this country? Am I right? But for all his writing Magruder was afraid; he'd not meet your father openly; he dreaded some unseen danger."