"No; I am clerk to him." Beckoning Anthony to follow, he threaded his way along one of the dim aisles toward the back of the warehouse. "Mr. Magruder is beyond, here." They passed into a dingy counting-room where there was a tall desk with a long-legged stool, some chests, a cupboard, whose open doors showed it crammed with invoices and bills of lading, and a litter of odds and ends of things the place trafficked in. At the desk was a stoop-shouldered man with a mean face and a sidelong look. When he heard Anthony's name he put aside the ledger he'd had his nose in, and stood examining him in a furtive way that caused a creep of dislike through the young man's blood. "Mr. Magruder?" asked Anthony, shortly. The West Indian trader came forward and gave him a meager handshake. "I have been expecting you," he said, "and but now sent aboard to ask after you. Word came back that you'd already come ashore; in fact," as Anthony sat down, "that you'd left the ship yesterday." Anxiety pinched his face into meaner lines than before. "I trust you have not been showing yourself a great deal in public places." "I reached the city about dark," said the young man, stretching his legs, unconcernedly. "I took my supper at a tavern, and then went to bed." Magruder seemed put at ease by this. "That is as it should be," he said. He sat down facing Anthony; warmed by a thin glow of hospitality, he took from a waistcoat pocket a silver snuff-box, upon whose lid was engraved a schooner under full sail. He offered it to his visitor; when the young man refused, he took a spare pinch himself; he sat and snuffled over its bite for a long time, with great relish, meanwhile studying Anthony with the same furtive look as before. "Your reply to my letter was handed me by the master of the ship _Loadstar_, about a month ago," he said. "Yes, Señor Montufars said he gave it to him," said Anthony. "You see, when your word came concerning the affairs of the firm of Rufus Stevens' Sons, I was a week's journey up the river, and Montufars was in care of my affairs. As the matter seemed urgent, he wrote to you at once, it being his thought I'd return in time to take passage on the _Bristol Pride_." The face of the West Indian merchant went a dirty gray as Anthony spoke. "Do you tell me a third person answered my letter?" His voice lifted to almost a shriek; his hands were held out, clawing like talons. "Do you tell me that he read what I wrote for your eyes alone?" The features of the man worked like one in a fit; startled, Anthony got up and went to him. "What is it? Are you ill? Is there anything I can do?" The frantic hands drummed upon Anthony's breast.