I have a notion, and
more than a notion, that I shall never pass back alive through these
pestilential swamps. If you should arrive, as you doubtless will,
here is a charge which I lay upon you. That agreement of ours is
scarcely a fair one, is it, Trent? When I signed it, I wasn't quite
myself. Never mind! I'll trust to you to do what's fair. If the
thing turns out a great success, put some sort of a share at any
rate to my credit and let my daughter have it. You will find her
address from Messrs. Harris and Culsom, Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn
Fields. You need only ask them for Monty's daughter and show them
this letter. They will understand. I believe you to be a just man,
Scarlett Trent, although I know you to be a hard one. Do then as
I ask.
"MONTY."
Da Souza had left the room quietly. Trent read the letter through
twice and locked it up in his desk. Then he rose and lit a pipe,
knocking out the ashes carefully and filling the bowl with dark but
fragrant tobacco. Presently he rang the bell.
"Tell Mr. Da Souza I wish to see him here at once," he told the
servant, and, though the message was a trifle peremptory from a
host to his guest, Da Souza promptly appeared, suave and cheerful.
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