A half-breed admitted him, white teeth shining in an expansive welcoming grin.
“Come in, Meester Davis. By Gar!—et ees good. You!”
An old man hobbled excitedly across the room, his long white beard flaring out in the sudden breeze from the doorway. His palsied, rheumatic hands crept up slowly to the younger man’s shoulders and remained there for a moment in silence.
“Davis,” he declared simply, “you are welcome back.”
A wan smile parted the other’s lips.
“I’m glad to see you again, Mr. Harbinson.”
The old man motioned to a rough, worn bench. “Sit down, man, sit down. You must be tired.” He turned to the half-breed. “Baptiste, hurry something to eat for Mr. Davis.”
While the preparations for the meal were proceeding, the old man talked steadily. Presently Davis, unable longer to postpone the ordeal, face red with humiliation, blurted out:
“Mr. Harbinson, I did not succeed in my mission. I have failed.”
“Failed!” exclaimed the old man.