Ryecroft echoes the laugh; but so faintly, his friend can see the cloud has not yet lifted; instead, lies heavy and dark as ever.
In hopes of doing something to dissipate it, the Major rolls on in his rich Hibernian brogue—
“You’ve just come in time to save your chattels from the hammer. And now I have you here I mean to keep you. So, old boy, make up your mind to an unlimited sojourn in Boulogne-sur-mer. You will, won’t you?”
“It’s very kind of you, Mahon; but that must depend on—”
“On what?”
“How I prosper in my errand.”
“Oh! this time you have an errand? Some business?”
“I have.”
“Well, as you had none before, it gives reason to hope that other matters may be also reversed, and instead of shooting off like a comet, you’ll play the part of a fixed star; neither to shoot nor be shot at, as looked likely on the last occasion. But speaking seriously, Ryecroft, as you say you’re on business, may I know its nature?”
“Not only may, but it’s meant you should. Nay, more, Mahon; I want your help in it.”