' Of course, I saw then that he was a wrong un, so I
cut him dead, and walked away."
"Served him right," declared the elderly American, with a solemn
twinkle directed at the tall brown man, who, having opened his
mouth, now thought better of it, and closed it again, with a grin.
"But he is very kind," said the native. "When my brother fell and
broke his arm on the mountain, this gentleman found him, took care
of him, and brought him in on muleback."
"Lives up there somewhere, doesn't he, Mr. Raimonda?" asked the
big man.
"In the quinta of a deserted plantation," replied the Caracunan.
"Wot's he do?" asked the Englishman.
"Ah, THAT one does not know, unless Senor Sherwen can tell us."
"Not I," said the elderly man. "Some sort of scientific
investigation, according to the guess of the men at the club."
"You never can tell down here," observed the Englishman darkly.
"Might be a blind, you know. Calls himself Perkins. Dare say it
isn't his name at all."
"Daughter," said Mr. Thatcher Brewster at this juncture, in a
patient and plaintive voice, "for the fifth and last time, I
implore you to pass me the butter, or that which purports to be
butter, in the dish at your elbow.
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