Well, the police would move him for you; and from Singapore
you can go on to the east coast of Africa."

"I'll be hanged if the fellow isn't up to that silly trick!" was
Ricardo's comment, spoken in an ominous tone which recalled Schomberg to
the realities of his position.

"No! No!" he protested. "It's a manner of speaking. Of course I
wouldn't."

"I think that trouble about the girl has really muddled your brains,
Mr. Schomberg. Believe me, you had better part friends with us; for,
deportation or no deportation, you'll be seeing one of us turning up
before long to pay you off for any nasty dodge you may be hatching in
that fat head of yours."

"Gott im Himmel!" groaned Schomberg. "Will nothing move him out? Will
he stop here immer--I mean always? Suppose I were to make it worth your
while, couldn't you--"

"No," Ricardo interrupted. "I couldn't, unless I had something to lever
him out with. I've told you that before."

"An inducement?" muttered Schomberg.

"Ay. The east coast of Africa isn't good enough. He told me the other
day that it will have to wait till he is ready for it; and he may not be
ready for a long time, because the east coast can't run away, and no one
is likely to run off with it."

These remarks, whether considered as truisms or as depicting Mr.
Jones's mental state, were distinctly discouraging to the long-suffering
Schomberg; but there is truth in the well-known saying that places
the darkest hour before the dawn. The sound of words, apart from the
context, has its power; and these two words, 'run off,' had a special
affinity to the hotel-keeper's, haunting idea. It was always present
in his brain, and now it came forward evoked by a purely fortuitous
expression. No, nobody could run off with a continent; but Heyst had run
off with the girl!

Ricardo could have had no conception of the cause of Schomberg's changed
expression. Yet it was noticeable enough to interest him so much that
he stopped the careless swinging of his leg and said, looking at the
hotel-keeper:

"There's not much use arguing against that sort of talk--is there?"

Schomberg was not listening.

"I could put you on another track," he said slowly, and stopped, as if
suddenly choked by an unholy emotion of intense eagerness combined with
fear of failure. Ricardo waited, attentive, yet not without a certain
contempt.

"On the track of a man!" Schomberg uttered convulsively, and paused
again, consulting his rage and