“No, sir.” Ricardo remained silent for a minute, with the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. “I don't think I could tell you anything about myself that you don't know,” he continued. There was a sort of amused satisfaction in his tone which changed completely as he went on. “It's that man, over there, that's got to be talked over. I don't like him.”
He, failed to observe the flicker of a ghastly smile on his governor's lips.
“Don't you?” murmured Mr. Jones, whose face, as he reclined on his elbow, was on a level with the top of his follower's head.
“No, sir,” said Ricardo emphatically. The candle from the other side of the room threw his monstrous black shadow on the wall. “He—I don't know how to say it—he isn't hearty-like.”
Mr. Jones agreed languidly in his own manner:
“He seems to be a very self-possessed man.”
“Ay, that's it. Self—” Ricardo choked with indignation. “I would soon let out some of his self-possession through a hole between his ribs, if this weren't a special job!”
Mr. Jones had been making his own reflections, for he asked:
“Do you think he is suspicious?”
“I don't see very well what he can be suspicious of,” pondered Ricardo. “Yet there he was doing a think. And what could be the object of it? What made him get out of his bed in the middle of the night. 'Tain't fleas, surely.”