"But he understands English, French, and Spanish, for the matter of that," Jerry persisted.
Whenever Wrenmarsh began to talk in this whimsical fashion, Taberman had always a teasing desire to push him into a corner.
"Ah, but, my dear fellow," Wrenmarsh replied, unaccountably addressing Jack, and making his words seem more distraught by one of his most earnest, almost burning glances, "I do not speak Spanish, you see."
"Then why not French or English?"
"Because they're so different," returned the collector.
"Why, what rot!" Jerry burst out rudely; then as usual he added apologetically, "I beg your pardon, but I'm afraid I don't follow you."
"Oh, no; I suppose not," Mr. Wrenmarsh rejoined with much sweetness. He rose, and with an entire change of manner, added briskly, "Well, I'm ready. As I wish to catch the eleven thirty-four for London, we must make haste; otherwise I shouldn't have time to take Mr. Castleport to the bank, and settle my financial obligations. Can we get ashore?"
"Yes," answered Jack, rising also. "The cutter's ready, and your boxes are on board. By the by, you said you'd tell me how you dodge—pardon the word, we use it on the other side—the customs."
"Simplest thing in the world," returned Wrenmarsh, lighting a cigarette. "Address my boxes to a good friend of mine in the British Museum. They go through the customhouse as things for the museum, you know."