The Sun of Quebec | Page 8

large, red and powerful. Robert felt that his first belief was correct. He had seen him before somewhere, though he could not yet recall where, but when he turned his head presently he knew. They had met under such circumstances that neither was ever likely to forget time or place.
He was amazed that the stranger had come so boldly into Albany, but second thought told him that there was no proof against him, it was merely Robert's word against his. Among people absorbed in a great war his own story would seem wildly improbable and the stranger's would have all the savor of truth. But he knew that he could not be mistaken. He saw now the spare face, clean shaven, and the hard eyes, set close together, that he remembered so well.
Robert did not know what to do. He listened for a little while to Grosvenor's narrative but his attention wandered back to the seafaring man. Then he decided.
"Will you fellows talk on and excuse me for a few minutes?" he said.
"What is it, Lennox?" asked Colden.
"I see an acquaintance on the other side of the room. I wish to speak to him."
"That being the case, we'll let you go, but we'll miss you. Hurry back."
"I'll stay only a few minutes. It's an old friend and I must have a little talk with him."
He walked with light steps across the room which was crowded, humming with many voices, the air heavy with smoke. The man was still at the small table, and, opposite him, was an empty chair in which Robert sat deliberately, putting his elbows on the table, and staring into the hard blue eyes.
"I'm Peter Smith," he said. "You remember me?"
There was a flicker of surprise in the Captain's face, but nothing more.
"Oh, yes, Peter," he said. "I know you, but I was not looking for you just at this moment."
"But I'm here."
"Perhaps you're coming back to your duty, is that it? Well, I'm glad. I've another ship now, and though you're a runaway seaman I can afford to let bygones be bygones."
"I hope your vessel has changed her trade. I don't think I'd care to sail again on a slaver."
"Always a particular sort of chap you were, Peter. It's asking a lot for me to change the business of my ship to suit you."
"But not too much."
The conversation was carried on in an ordinary tone. Neither raised his voice a particle. Nobody took any notice. His own comrades, engrossed in lively talk, seemed to have forgotten Robert for the moment, and he felt that he was master of the situation. Certainly the slaver would be more uncomfortable than he.
"I was wondering," he said, "how long you mean to stay in Albany."
"It's a pleasant town," said the man, "as I have cause to know since I've been here before. I may remain quite a while. Still, I shall decide wholly according to my taste."
"But there is a certain element of danger."
"Oh, the war! I don't think the French even if they come to Albany will have a chance to take me."
"I didn't have the war in mind. There are other risks of which I think that I, Peter Smith, who sailed with you once before ought to warn you."
"It's good of you, Peter, to think so much of my safety, but I don't believe I've any cause for fear. I've always been able to take care of myself."
The last words were said with a little snap, and Robert knew they were meant as a defiance, but he appeared not to notice.
"Ah, well you've shown that you know how to look out for number one," he said. "I'm only Peter Smith, a humble seaman, but I've the same faculty. I bid you good-day."
"Good-day, Peter. I hope there's no ill feeling between us, and that each will have whatever he deserves!"
Cool! wonderfully cool, Robert thought, but he replied merely: "I trust so, too, and in that case it is easy to surmise what one of us would get."
He sauntered back to his comrades, and, lest he attract their attention, he did not look toward the slaver again for a minute or two. When he glanced in that direction he saw the man walking toward the door, not in any hurried manner, but as if he had all the time in the world, and need fear nobody. Cool! wonderfully cool, Robert thought a second time.
The slaver went out, and Robert thought he caught a glimpse of a man meeting him, a second man in whose figure also there was something familiar. They were gone in an instant, and he was tempted to spring up and follow them, because the figure of which he had seen but a little at the door reminded him nevertheless of Achille Garay, the spy.
CHAPTER II
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