Page:Stevenson - The Wrecker (1892).djvu/181

Rh sorbed in other thought, rose in my memory with not a feature blurred: a view, from Bellairs's door as we were coming down, of muddy roadway, passing drays, matted telegraph wires, a China-boy with a basket on his head, and (almost opposite) a corner grocery with the name of Dickson in great gilt letters.

“Yes,” said I, “you are right; he would change it. And anyway, I don't believe it was his name at all; I believe he took it from a corner grocery beside Bellairs's.”

“As like as not,” said Jim, still standing on the side-walk with contracted brows.

“Well, what shall we do next?” I asked.

“The natural thing would be to rush the schooner,” he replied. “But I don't know. I telephoned the captain to go at it head down and heels in air; he answered like a little man; and I guess he's getting around. I believe, Loudon, we'll give Trent a chance. Trent was in it; he was in it up to the neck; even if he couldn't buy, he could give us the straight tip.”

“I think so, too,” said I. “Where shall we find him?”

“British consulate, of course,” said Jim. “And that's another reason for taking him first. We can hustle that schooner up all evening; but when the consulate's shut, it's shut.”

At the consulate, we learned that Captain Trent had alighted (such is, I believe, the classic phrase) at the What Cheer House. To that large and unaristocratic hostelry we drove, and addressed ourselves to a large clerk, who was chewing a toothpick and looking straight before him.

“Captain Jacob Trent?”

“Gone,” said the clerk.

“Where has he gone?” asked Pinkerton.

“Cain't say,” said the clerk.

“When did he go?” I asked.