Robbie, 'that, when you knew my client,
Chevenix--the past of our friend Mr. Ducie is an obscure chapter
full of horrid secrets--I'll wager, now, you knew him as St. Ivey,'
says he, nudging me violently.
'I think not, sir,' said the Major, with pinched lips.
'Well, I wish he may prove all right!' continued the lawyer, with
certainly the worst-inspired jocularity in the world. 'I know
nothing by him! He may be a swell mobsman for me with his aliases.
You must put your memory on the rack, Major, and when ye've
remembered when and where ye met him, be sure ye tell me.'
'I will not fail, sir,' said Chevenix.
'Seek to him!' cried Robbie, waving his hand as he departed.
The Major, as soon as we were alone, turned upon me his impassive
countenance.
'Well,' he said, 'you have courage.'
'It is undoubted as your honour, sir,' I returned, bowing.
'Did you expect to meet me, may I ask?' said he.
'You saw, at least, that I courted the presentation,' said I.
'And you were not afraid?' said Chevenix.
'I was perfectly at ease. I knew I was dealing with a gentleman.
Be that your epitaph.'
'Well, there are some other people looking for you,' he said, 'who
will make no bones about the point of honour. The police, my dear
sir, are simply agog about you.'
'And I think that that was coarse,' said I.
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