"Tell me one thing," persisted Dawkins. "Does he take the girl with him?"
I answered immediately: "No; he does not take her. He does not even know where she is, and he has decided to give up the whole business."
"I can't understand it, and I don't believe it," said Dawkins, moving towards the door. "You're hiding something from me."
I slipped my hand into my pocket, and drew out the envelope containing the steamer tickets. Without a word I pulled out the tickets, and showed them to him. "I am to meet my master early to-morrow morning with these, and to take him on board. Does that convince you?"
He looked at the tickets and at me; something in my manner evidently impressed him. "Well," he said, "it's no affair of mine—and he was always an erratic sort of fellow. But why couldn't he have let me know that he was going?"
"You forget," I reminded him, "that you have been endeavouring to get a large sum of money out of him."
"There's something in that," he replied, with a laugh. "I don't like being made a fool of; I hope the infernal vessel will blow up, or sink, or something, with the pair of you on board."
"Thank you, sir," I responded quietly, as he went out, slamming the door after him.
Jervis Fanshawe was seated on the bed, rubbing his hands, and laughing softly to himself. "That was well done, Charlie; that was excellently done," he said, in a hoarse whisper. "You're a clever fellow, Charlie; you've covered up the traces beautifully."