“I have read ze letter before it was sealed. We all know Mr. Willoughby’s word is enough—it is as good as one gold bond.”
“I’d do anything for Merle Farnsworth,” continued Dick, carried away by his fervid emotion. “I would die for her, if need be, to save her from one moment’s pain.”
“Don Manuel he know that,” replied Pierre. Dick paused and his look changed.
“How the devil does he know I love the girl?”
“Ah!” The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Ah! Don Manuel he know everything. But now, I am under orders not to speak. Over there you will find ze latest newspapers, sir,” he went on, pointing to the table laden with literature, “and every few days more will be brought for you—not only ze newspapers of Los Angeles and San Francisco, but also, ze newspapers of New York and London and Paris, all of which monsieur is accustomed to read.”
“Great Scott, you seem to know,” exclaimed Dick in a low voice.
Pierre continued placidly:
“And you play chess. There is a box of chess—échecs we call it in France, you will remember. I too play ze game. Don Manuel and I used to spend many hours over ze board. After I have had my breakfast, I, Pierre Luzon, challenge you to one game of chess.”
“Be it so,” laughed Dick. “But you must be hungry, man. For heaven’s sake go and eat. We’ll yarn later on. Meanwhile, I’ll have a glance through the newspapers.”
Dick handled the newspapers with renewed surprise—the very New York papers he was accustomed to receive regularly, also the old familiar. Times Weekly from London and the Paris Figaro to which he had subscribed ever since the old Quartier Latin days! The same with the magazines—all his favorites were on the table.