He lifted his delicate and beautifully pencilled eyebrows. Schomberg muttered something about the locality being dull and uninteresting to travellers—nothing going on—too quiet altogether, but he only provoked the declaration that quiet had its charm sometimes, and even dullness was welcome as a change.
“We haven't had time to be dull for the last three years,” added plain Mr. Jones, his eyes fixed darkly on Schomberg whom he further more invited to have another drink, this time with him, and not to worry himself about things he did not understand; and especially not to be inhospitable—which in a hotel-keeper is highly unprofessional.
“I don't understand,” grumbled Schomberg. “Oh, yes, I understand perfectly well. I—”
“You are frightened,” interrupted Mr. Jones. “What is the matter?”
“I don't want any scandal in my place. That's what's the matter.”
Schomberg tried to face the situation bravely, but that steady, black stare affected him. And when he glanced aside uncomfortably, he met Ricardo's grin uncovering a lot of teeth, though the man seemed absorbed in his thoughts all the time.
“And, moreover,” went on Mr. Jones in that distant tone of his, “you can't help yourself. Here we are and here we stay. Would you try to put us out? I dare say you could do it; but you couldn't do it without getting hurt—very badly hurt. We can promise him that, can't we, Martin?”
The secretary retracted his lips and looked up sharply at Schomberg, as if only too anxious to leap upon him with teeth and claws.
Schomberg managed to produce a deep laugh.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!”