“What's a human life to a doctor? Besides, he's on the slush-fund pay-roll and does whatever the higher-ups tell him. You be guided by what I tell you, Miss Ruey, and do not set foot on Sobrantean soil. Even if you had a guarantee that you could escape alive, there isn't a hotel in the city you could afford to sleep in; Miss Wilkins's house is closed up, and Miss Wilkins's servants dismissed, and—er—well, if you stay aboard La Estrellita, you'll have your nice clean stateroom, your well-cooked meals, your bath, and the attentions of the stewardess. The steamer will be loaded in two days; then you go back to New Orleans, and by the time you arrive there I'll have been in communication by cable with Mother Jenks—I mean——”
“Mother who?” Dolores demanded.
“A mere slip of the tongue, Miss Ruey. I was thinking of my landlady. I meant Mrs. Wilkins——”
“You mean Miss Wilkins,” Dolores corrected him smilingly.
“So I do. Of course, Miss Wilkins. Well, I'll cable her you're on your way back, and if you'll leave me your New Orleans address, I'll have her get in touch with you, and then you can have your nice little visit far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife and the death-dealing sting of the yellow-fever mosquito.”
“I'm so awfully obliged to you, Mr. Geary. You're so kind, I'm sure I'd be a most ungrateful girl not to be guided by you accordingly. You wouldn't risk any friend of yours in this terrible place, would you, Mr. Geary?”
“Indeed, I would not. By permitting anybody I thought anything of to come to this city, I should feel guilty of murder.”
“I'm sure you would, Mr. Geary. Nevertheless, there is one point that is not quite clear in my mind, and I wish you'd explain——”
“Command me, Miss Ruey.”
“If this is such a frightful place, why are you so anxious, if I may employ such language, to hornsgoggle your dearest friend, Mr. John S. Webster, into coming down here? Do you want to kill him and get his money—or what?”