Instead of closing his eyes, as he had done after the previous attacks, and relapsing into coma, the sick man made an immediate effort to speak.
“Co-come here,” he articulated faintly. “Important, very important.”
He groped feebly for his inner pocket.
“You want me to take out this bundle?” Brainard asked, laying his hand on the bulky wallet.
The man made an affirmative sign, and kept his eyes steadily on Brainard while the latter gently extracted the pocketbook.
“You—you will do something for me?” the stranger said more distinctly than he had hitherto spoken, as if urgency were clearing his mind. “You can—you can start to-night?”
“I’m not very busy,” the young man said, with a laugh. “I guess I could start for Hong-Kong on a few minutes’ notice.”
“Not Hong-Kong,” the old man labored forth literally. “You’re honest?”
It was said in a tone of self-conviction rather than of question.
“Oh, I guess so,” the young man answered lightly. “At least, what’s called honest—never had a chance to steal anything worth taking!” He added more seriously, to quiet the sick man, who seemed to be laboring under excitement, “Tell me what you want done, and I’ll do my best to put it through for you.”