‘Ah, yes, but we have met, Sir Sykes Denzil, Baronet,’ returned Hold, with a twinkle of satisfaction in his bold black eyes; ‘not that it’s any wonder you do not remember so humble a chap as yours truly. I have the advantage of you.’
These last words were uttered with a malicious emphasis which caused Sir Sykes to look again and keenly in the man’s face, while cudgelling his memory, though in vain, to find some guiding clue. He saw a hard, fierce, swarthy countenance, dark hair partly grizzled, and a powerfully built frame, such as matched well with the face. Had Sir Sykes on the Bench been consulted by his brother magistrates as to the number of calendar months of imprisonment with hard labour to be allotted to such a one as Hold, he would have said at once: ‘Give him the heaviest sentence warranted by law, for, unless Lavater’s science be false, there could scarcely exist a more dangerous scoundrel.’
Sir Sykes, however, was not on the bench, nor Hold in the dock at quarter-sessions. So he merely replied with a steady look: ‘No, Mr Hold, or whatever your name may be. To the best of my belief, I never in my life saw you.’
‘Very good,’ quietly returned the man, taking out a black pocket-book much frayed and battered, and rustling over the dog’s-eared leaves. ‘Let me see; yes, March the twenty-fourth is the first important date.’
‘And may I ask,’ interposed Sir Sykes, with somewhat of the cold haughtiness which had stood him in good stead in many a moral duel, ‘what is the meaning of these perpetual references to a specified day in March?’
Hold’s low inward laugh was one of sincere enjoyment. ‘It’s not only at cards, Sir Sykes,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘that the game of brag can be played. But come, it’s of no use, Sir Sykes Denzil, Baronet. My hand’s too strong—chokeful of court-cards, kings, queens, knaves, and aces—to give you a chance. I have entries here’—slapping the black pocket-book—‘for more days than one. Take one of ’em at random. You have cause to remember the ninth of April in the same year, Sir Sykes. So have I.’ And with a nod and a wink, Hold slid back the book into an inner pocket of his rough coat.
The baronet’s blanched face and anxious eye betrayed how deeply he was agitated by what he had heard.
‘What do you want of me?’ he asked abruptly, but in a tremulous voice.
‘Hark ye, shipmate!’ rejoined the other, leaning his head on his hand, while his elbow rested on the stained and chipped table beside him; ‘all in good time. Business is business, and is not to be disposed of in that sort of hop, skip, and jump way. Take another look at me, if you like; and since you can’t tell who I am, say what I am.’
‘I should say,’ answered Sir Sykes, gazing with undisguised repugnance at the outward man of his dubious acquaintance, ‘that you have been a sailor.’