“To a certain extent,” he said in emendation. “Of course, my real object, as you no doubt know, is to get away from England until my father’s death has been forgotten. My own conscience is quite clear, but—”
Jack Meredith drew in his legs and leant forward.
“But,” he said, interrupting, and yet not interrupting—“but the public mind is an unclean sink. Everything that goes into it comes out tainted. Therefore it is best only to let the public mind have the scourings, as it were, of one’s existence. If they get anything better—anything more important—it is better to skedaddle until it has run through and been swept away by a flow of social garbage.”
Guy Oscard grunted with his pipe between his teeth, after the manner of the stoic American-Indian—a grunt that seemed to say, “My pale-faced brother has spoken well; he expresses my feelings.” Then he gave further vent to the deliberate expansiveness which was his.
“What I cannot stand,” he said, “are the nudges and the nods and the surreptitious glances of the silly women who think that one cannot see them looking. I hate being pointed out.”
“Together with the latest skirt-dancing girl, and the last female society-detective, with the blushing honours of the witness-box thick upon her,” suggested Jack Meredith.
“Yes,” muttered Guy. He turned with a sort of simple wonder, and looked at Meredith curiously. He had never been understood so quickly before. He had never met man or woman possessing in so marked a degree that subtle power of going right inside the mind of another and feeling the things that are there—the greatest power of all—the power that rules the world; and it is only called Sympathy.
“Well,” said the voice of Durnovo through the darkness, “I don’t mind admitting that all I want is the money. I want to get out of this confounded country; but I don’t want to leave till I have made a fortune.”
The subtle influence that Meredith wielded seemed to have reached him too, warming into expansiveness his hot Spanish blood. His voice was full of confidence.
“Very right and proper,” said Meredith. “Got a grudge against the country; make the country pay for it in cash.”
“That’s what I intend to do; and it shall pay heavily. Then, when I’ve got the money, I’ll know what to do with it. I know where to look, and I do not think that I shall look in vain.”
Guy Oscard shuffled uneasily in his camp-chair. He had an Englishman’s horror of putting into speech those things which we all think, while only Frenchmen and Italians say them. The Spaniards are not so bad, and Victor Durnovo had enough of their blood in him to say no more.
It did not seem to occur to any of them that the only person whose individuality was still veiled happened to be Jack Meredith. He alone had said nothing, had imparted no confidence. He it was who spake first, after a proper period of silence. He was too much of an adept to betray haste, and thus admit his debt of mutual confidence.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that we have all the technicalities arranged now. So far as the working of the expedition is concerned, we know our places, and the difficulties will be met as they present themselves. But there is one thing which I think we should set in order now. I have been thinking about it while I have been waiting here alone.”
The glow of Victor Durnovo’s cigar died away as if in his attention he was forgetting to smoke; but he said nothing.
“It seems to me,” Jack went on, “that before we leave here we should draw up and sign a sort of deed of partnership. Of course, we trust each other perfectly—there is no question of that. But life is an uncertain thing, as some earlier philosopher said before me; and one never knows what may happen. I have drawn up a paper in triplicate. If you have a match, I will read it to you.”
Oscard produced a match, and, striking it on his boot, sheltered it with the hollow of his hand, while Jack read:
“We, the undersigned, hereby enter into partnership to search for and sell, to our mutual profit, the herb known as Simiacine, the profits to be divided into three equal portions, after the deduction of one-hundredth part to be handed to the servant, Joseph Atkinson. Any further expenses that may be incurred to be borne in the same proportion as the original expense of fitting out the expedition, namely, two-fifths to be paid by Guy Cravener Oscard, two-fifths by John Meredith, one-fifth by Victor Durnovo.
“The sum of fifty pounds per month to be paid to Victor Durnovo, wherewith he may pay the thirty special men taken from his estate and headquarters at Msala to cultivate the Simiacine, and such corn and vegetables as may be required for the sustenance of the expedition; these men to act as porters until the plateau be reached.
“The opinion of two of the three leaders against one to be accepted unconditionally in all questions where controversy may arise. In case of death each of us undertakes hereby to hand over to the executors of the dead partner or partners such moneys as shall belong to him or them.”
At this juncture there was a little pause while Guy Oscard lighted a second match.
“And,” continued Jack, “we hereby undertake severally, on oath, to hold the whereabouts of the Simiacine a strict secret, which secret may not be revealed by any one of us to whomsoever it may be without the sanction, in writing, of the other two partners.”
“There,” concluded Jack Meredith, “I am rather pleased with that literary production; it is forcible and yet devoid of violence. I feel that in me the commerce of the century has lost an ornament. Moreover, I am ready to swear to the terms of the agreement.”
There was a little pause. Guy Oscard took his pipe from
