I lit a fresh cigar and continued my promenade alone. As I walked aft I caught snatches of the musical monotone of Cammerford’s voice. Ever since dinner time he had been in earnest conversation with Mr. Hemster, who sat in his usual chair at the stern of the boat. So far as I am aware, Mr. Hemster was leaving the burden of the talk to the younger man, who, from the tone of his voice, seemed in deadly earnest. At last Mr. Hemster got up and threw his cigar overboard. I heard him say:
“I told you, Mr. Cammerford, that I would not discuss this matter further until I reached Nagasaki. The papers are all in my desk under lock and key in the room at the hotel, and that room is closed and sealed. I’ll say no more about this scheme until I am back there.”
“And when you are back there, Mr. Hemster, what action are you going to take?”
“Whatever action seems to be best for my own interests, Mr. Cammerford.”
“Well, from most men that reply would be very unsatisfactory. However, I am glad to say I trust you completely, Mr. Hemster, and I know you will do the square thing in the end.”
“I’m glad you think so,” said the old man curtly, as he went down the stairway. Cammerford stood there for a few moments, then strode forward and joined me.
“May I beg a light of you?” he asked, as if he were conferring a favour.
I don’t care to light one cigar from another, so I struck a match and held it while he took advantage of the flame.
“Thanks. Now, Tremorne, I want to talk with you as to a friend. We were friends once, you know.”
“True; the kind of friend the celebrated phrase refers to, perhaps.”