Turning on his heel with this valediction, which consigned the merchant and the captain’s future beyond the grave to the Devil, who, under the name of James Flatfoot, occupies a prominent place in marine theology, Mr. Jones carelessly lounged out of the private room, leaving the glass door open, and with a nonchalant glance at the three or four startled clerks and book-keepers who sat and stood at their desks wondering what had been going on within, for they had only caught confused scraps of the stormy colloquy, he went down stairs, with a load off his mind which had been gathering there during the whole voyage of the Soliman. For a moment after his departure, Mr. Atkins sat mute and still, feeling like one in a horrid dream. Roused presently by a deep-drawn breath from Captain Bangham, he wheeled his chair around to the desk, and taking out his white handkerchief, wiped away the cold sweat which had started out on his face and forehead. “What are we going to do now, Mr. Atkins?” said the captain. “I don’t know, Bangham,” replied the merchant in a voice like the faint voice of a sick man. “I should like to have that scoundrel arrested. Such insolence I never heard in all my life. My God! what are we coming to in this country when a low fellow like that can presume to talk so to a man of my standing!” He murmured these words feebly, and again wiping his face, sat with his eyes glassy and his jaw working. “Mr. Atkins,” said Bangham, after a pause, “this black curse has got off, but he must be somewhere in the city. If I should happen to meet him about town anywhere”— “Just seize him,” cried the merchant, with a start. “Lay hands upon him at once, and carry him aboard the vessel. You can say, if anybody interferes, that he is a thief, and that you’re taking him to the police-office.” “I’ll do it,” exclaimed the captain, with an oath. “I’ll hang around Nigger Hill, where he’s likely to be, and if I meet him, off he’ll go. It’ll be horrid if we don’t find him, and they should happen to hear of it down in Orleans.” “Indeed it will, Bangham,” replied the merchant. “Though, of course, we could explain it satisfactorily. Still, there’s the trouble of the explanation, and it would be far better if we could return the rascal. That would settle the whole thing at once.” “By the way, have you told Lafitte anything about this?” inquired the captain, anxiously. “God bless me, no!” replied Mr. Atkins, hurriedly. “Lafitte musn’t know anything about this. We must keep it from him.” “What is it you must keep from me, my dear friends?” said a smooth, courteous voice. They both started, and turned around. There stood Mr. Lafitte, smiling a bland sardonic smile. So still—so cool—so unruffled. It almost seemed as if he had outgrown upon them from the air. But he had come softly through the outer office, and stood just within the glass door, which Jones had left open.