“Good man,” cried Mr Boyle, with one of his sweeping gestures. “The night is young. A few paces from here is a snug little restaurant, presided over by my old and excellent friend, Luigi. You will be my guest.”
Wingate started at the name. It was the little house in Soho where Monkton had dined with the bearded Russian on the night of his disappearance.
The smiling proprietor welcomed Boyle with extreme cordiality. They were very well acquainted.
They had a light supper, and at the conclusion Boyle drew aside the waiter, and whispered something in his ear. Wingate caught the words: “Put it down. I’ll call and pay to-morrow.”
The gentleman in the worn evening suit and the dingy shirt was evidently short of cash. Wingate took advantage of the opportunity. Smeaton had taken a dislike to the man, but what the poor broken-down creature had told him might be of service.
“Pardon me, Boyle,” he said, dropping the formal prefix, “but I could not help overhearing. If you have come out without money, please let me be your banker for the time being.”
There was a long pause. Boyle seized the tumbler of whisky-and-soda that stood at his elbow, and drained it at a draught. For a few seconds he seemed struggling with some hidden emotion. Then his usual flamboyancy returned. He hailed the waiter in a loud voice, and ordered more refreshment.
Then he laid his long, lean hand on the other’s shoulder, and spoke in his deep, rolling tones.
“Why should I play the hypocrite to a good fellow like yourself, Wingate. I’m as poor as a church-rat—you can guess that from my clothes. I asked you to supper on the spur of the moment with eighteenpence in my pocket, knowing that my old friend Luigi would give me credit. I have a roof over my head for the rest of the week. Next week I may not have that. But I don’t moan and whine; I set my teeth and smile, as I am smiling now. Whatever men may think of me, they shall never say that Caleb Boyle showed the white feather.”
He took another deep draught as he finished the pathetic outburst. Wingate felt in his pockets.