Captain Dove was an old man already. And even he could not for ever go on living such a life as he led. He had spoken of this trip East as his last, and it was his avowed object in it to turn Sallie to some account. Slyne, who, as you will perhaps suppose, was no squeamish moralist, sickened at thought of what time might still have in store for the girl.
"Just imagine her," said he to himself, "cooped up in some slat-eyed Chinaman's filthy yamen till she grows grey, or eating her heart out in some coffee-coloured sultan's clay palace, with nothing to comfort her but a crooked brass crown—and not even that by and by. It's damnable to think—But what's the use of thinking about it! I'm going to save her from all that—in spite of herself." And his selfishly sentimental mood of the moment once more gave place to a philosophic contentment with things as they were, and that in turn to an exhilarating anticipation of pleasures to come.
The lights of San Remo looked very alluring to him, who had for so long spent his nights at sea with no more companionable illuminant than a reeking kerosene lamp or the cold, aloof stars. He became jocular, in a lofty way, with the always impatient Jobling, and at the frontier was so patronisingly polite to the officials there that they let him pass almost at once, under the apparent impression that he was some personage of importance—a circumstance which lent him a little additional self-confidence.
From Menton Garavan in to Monte Carlo is only some seven miles. And for that short distance he sat silent, once more mentally reviewing the manifold chances of mischance ahead of him. While Mr. Jobling, beside him, continued to mumble and mutter at intervals of misfortune—no fault of his own—and fortune, that marvellous fortune which was to be his so soon, since he had made up his mind that it must.
"I'm absolutely determined," said Mr. Jobling, unconsciously raising his voice again. "Eh? What? Oh, yes. I beg your pardon. I have a room at the Métropole. Where are you going to put up?"
"I always stay at the Paris," Slyne lied easily. He had no inclination for any more of his companion's society, especially while he had no idea how he himself might be received at any hotel in the Principality.
"I'll walk on from here, then, if you'll allow me," suggested that gentleman. "And—er—by the way, you won't be mentioning to anyone the circumstances—er—about the car."
"We'll let it be understood that I bought it in London—last month," said Slyne, ready to be obliging since it would be for his own benefit; and, cutting short with a curt "Good night" some further profuse expressions of gratitude on the part of his passenger, glad, indeed, to be so well quit of him, drove on in more state, his sleepy chauffeur in the seat vacated by Mr. Jobling, to make his next move in that desperate game in which he was going to stake life and liberty also on the infinitesimal chance of returning triumphant to Genoa to claim Sallie from Captain Dove.
For, "If they spot me, I'll blow out my brains before they can lay hands on me," said he to himself as he drew up with an imperative honk-honk-honk! before the Hôtel de Paris.