On an opposite corner of the street, at that very moment, a tall, foreign-looking gentleman was leaning over and talking low to a short, broad, keen-eyed man, as he pointed in the direction of the Major.
“That’s the chap. You might as well spot him now. May not have another chance. Of course it wouldn’t do to have him convicted. He’d squeal too loud. But he must be put out of the way for a while.”
“Free board at a public institution for six months,” returned the short man. “Will that do, Prosper?”
“That or thereabouts,” replied Prosper; “but he mustn’t see me. Go on.”
And Prosper drew back and disappeared around the corner; but, in another minute, a hand was laid lightly on Major Montague’s arm, and an oddly deferential voice said to him:
“My dear Major, you’re wanted.”
Pale indeed grew the rosy face of the Major, for he seemed to need no second look to establish the identity of the new arrival.
“Will you come up to my room with me and let me get my things?” he asked, huskily.
“Not just now, thank you,” replied the short man, “but I’ll send for them and have them brought down to your new hotel for you.”
Paler still grew the Major’s face, but, although half as large again as the short, broad man, he walked silently and unresistingly away with him.