“Being three to one,” said Schomberg, “I suppose you could get it for the asking.”
“One would think the fellow lived next door,” Ricardo growled impatiently. “Hang it all, can't you understand a plain question? I have asked you the way.”
Schomberg seemed to revive.
“The way?”
The torpor of deceived hopes underlying his superficial changes of mood had been pricked by these words which seemed pointed with purpose.
“The way is over the water, of course,” said the hotel-keeper. “For people like you, three days in a good, big boat is nothing. It's no more than a little outing, a bit of a change. At this season the Java Sea is a pond. I have an excellent, safe boat—a ship's life-boat—carry thirty, let alone three, and a child could handle her. You wouldn't get a wet face at this time of the year. You might call it a pleasure-trip.”
“And yet, having this boat, you didn't go after her yourself—or after him? Well, you are a fine fellow for a disappointed lover.”
Schomberg gave a start at the suggestion.
“I am not three men,” he said sulkily, as the shortest answer of the several he could have given.
“Oh, I know your sort,” Ricardo let fall negligently. “You are like most people—or perhaps just a little more peaceable than the rest of the buying and selling gang that bosses this rotten show. Well, well, you respectable citizen,” he went on, “let us go thoroughly into the matter.”